Skater Boy and Boarder Girl
by Postapocalypticdepository
Summary: Risk-taking, thrill-seeking, foul-mouthed, skateboarding girl, badass Bella has difficulty keeping her impulsive, trouble-making nature under control. Figure-skating, perfectionistic, straight-laced, well-mannered, A-student, Edward just wants to focus on his Olympic goals. What happens when these two polar opposites collide?
1. Chapter 1

Stephenie Meyer owns all _Twilight_ entitlements.

I don't own squat, but my words are mine.

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**Chapter 1**

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"Hey, B, two o'clock . . ."

I look up from testing out my footwork on the new Zero board I just got with the badass skull logo on it. The grease needs to be worked in to the bearings and the deck could use some breaking in, but I'm up for the challenge.

Rose and I decided to ditch our last class of the year and are just hanging out at the lower level of the school, waiting for bell to ring so we can hook up with Alice and start our summer right by heading out for a keg party to put this suck-ass year behind us.

"I bet you can't peg Prissy Pretty-boy Cullen from here."

Rose gives me that sneer, the goading, gloating one that implies someone's wronged her at some point during the year, meaning she wants payback for it. It's the sneer that usually lands my ass in a fuck-ton of trouble and usually grounded because I'm a stupid bitch who's just impulsive and gullible enough not to back down from one of her egg-ons to do her dirty work.

"How much?"

"A ten spot."

"Done. Watch and learn, Ho. I tighten the belt of my skate shorts and twist my hat so the brim is facing backwards over my head as I start readying my slingshot so I can load it. Instead of using a signature neon-yellow paintball with the Black Swan logo I paid to have printed on it, I pull out a cheap-ass, Heineken-green, three-quarter inch glass bead, rounded on the top and flat on the bottom from the bagful I bought from the dollar store. Hey, what can I say? Finances are tight right now.

I secure my hand complete with bruised, cut-up, and beat-to-shit fingers around the perfectly broken-in red leather-wrapped handle. I swear I'm creaming in my undies, waiting for the rush I'm about to get as I hear the stretch of the taut amber-colored rubber band when pulling back as I line up my sight—taking aim to hit squarely the rounded bubble ass of Edward Cullen.

_Fucking figure-skating weirdo doesn't deserve a behind that fine_.

I get my shot off, and it sails across the parking lot into the tan Docker-covered bullseye of his right ass cheek.

_William Tell would have been proud_.

What the fuck! The pebble bounces right off and ricochets halfway back towards my direction. Talk about your buns of steel. He doesn't even flinch when I hit him. But he does stop, turn around, and walk towards the glass bead, picking it up before heading towards me.

Shit! How did he even know where it came from? I duck down, quickly crouching onto my skateboard and start pumping my left leg to build up speed. I turn to look over my shoulder at where he is and see he's actually gaining on me. Fucking piece-of-shit new board, I can't get it going fast enough. It's too stiff. (Hah! I don't think I ever complained about anything being too stiff before.)

I reach the sidewalk, counterbalance my weight, and pop the board onto the cement from the asphalt of the driveway I was riding on.

This sucks! Classes just released, and I have to figure out how to surf through what now looks like a mosh pit of students not in any hurry to go anywhere. What the fuck is wrong with these kids? School's. Out. For. Summer. Right now, Alice Cooper should be echoing from people's Pods, players, and phones. These zombie morons should be displaying a little more enthusiasm.

I check again, and Cullen's about twenty feet behind me, but if I can make it into the school, I can ditch him, probably by hiding out in the girl's bathroom. He'd never break school rules and go in there as much as he'd probably want to, prissy-ass bastard. Well, maybe he isn't _that_ prissy, but he's certainly no derelict like I am. In fact, he probably has a stick shoved up his ass, helping him stay so straight.

_Stop digressing about Cullen's ass, B_. _Time to focus_.

My plan materializes as I see the metal handrail in front of me, and knowing it's a risk only fuels me further.

**"Coming through! Get out of my way!"**

I quickly stop and snap up the board, catching it; then I place it on top of the rail and leap up onto it.

**"MOVE!"**

I scream it, praying I won't hurt anyone in the process as I begin sliding my new wood—the highly varnished deck of my board over the worn, tepid steel.

Holy shit! I'm balanced, perfectly balanced, as I'm gliding on this wave through the Red Sea of parted kids even while wearing the Eastpak strapped to my back and the DC's loosely fitted to my feet, which right now are those things trying to remain securely planted on my board's gritty surface. I smile as I feel the adrenaline coursing through me.

I'm going to make it! Four flights of stairs totaling fifty-six steps, and I'm almost at the bottom. **Yes!** I have a clear shot, sailing right through the door . . .

Until I don't.

**"No, no, no! Fuck! Shit! MOVE!"**

Too late.

I make a split second decision not to do in McCarty, the school's All-American quarterback, who just came out the door I was going to go into. I decide to veer off to the right and just take what I have coming to me.

Already standing eight feet off the ground I spring from the board, leaving it behind, and lunge upward scrambling for open air, pirouetting as if I was doing a mogul move without the poles. I count ten heads and five shrubs as I sail over the congested area before making a hard landing . . . on my ass.

**FUCK, that hurt!**

My head is spinning, and I see trailing stars in front of me. I wipe my mouth, checking to make sure I still have all my teeth as I feel the blood start to run down my chin from my lip that I bit into.

The noise starts to die down as kids realize what I just did, but no one is coming over, no one, that is, except this tall lanky shadow dressed in summer leathers, a white collared shirt, and tan pants . . . what the . . .

_Cullen_?

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A/N:

Poor Bella. Here she tried to get away from Edward, yet he's now right in front of her.

Do you think she'll deserve what she gets?

What do you think Edward's going to?

Please share your ideas.

**I acknowledge all reviews.**

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I hope to update this weekly and do have more chapters waiting in queue. I also hope to get back to posting updates on my others. Please show some love if you like this and would like to see it continue.

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Thank, you as always, Chayasara, for beta'ing my mess.

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As for my readers, if you're here reading this, I guess I've done something right.

However, if you've never read anything else of mine, please check out some of my other stories.

"Boys Will Be" and "Watching You" are similar and are rather humorous. I also co-wrote a very funny, very fluffy completed drabble entitled "SHAKE!", posting on Bornonhalloween's Fanfiction and my Fictionpad sight that you should check out.

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Thank you for reading.

PAD


	2. Chapter 2

Stephenie Meyer owns all _Twilight_ entitlements.

I don't own squat, but my warped ideas are mine.

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**Chapter 2**

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"Try not to move."

"What? . . . Get the fuck away from me. I'm fine . . . I do this all the time."

I don't really feel fine, but I'm not letting anyone know that. I hate an audience after I crash and burn. No one likes defeat, and I can't stand hoverers.

"Here . . . at least wipe your mouth."

He hands me a brand new, snow white, still stiff (What is it about me and stiff things today?), monogrammed handkerchief.

"Uh, you know I'm going to shit this up?"

"That's the idea."

I try wrangling myself out of my backpack. "Whoa. The room's spinning, which is pretty weird, considering we're outside."

"Let me help. What do you need?"

"My Oakley's; it's too fucking bright out here."

He helps to relieve me of what now feels like a cement block strapped to my back and pulls out my sunglasses, placing them gently over my ears. "Huh."

"What's so fucking funny . . . _Skater Boy_?"

"You . . . _Boarder Girl_. There's no sun out, and it's just about to rain. You probably have a concussion."

"Pssh, right. I didn't even hit my head, dumbass."

"I think I know a thing or two or maybe TEN more than you do about concussions, one of them being that you don't have to hit your head to get one."

"What are you talking about?"

"The g-force from an abrupt landing can jostle your brain, bruising it even if your skull's not impacted."

"Oh."

That sort of explains the feeling I'm feeling right now and the fact that I've felt this feeling plenty of times before.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Two . . . " I squint hard trying to make out the blurry images. "Four . . . " I really have no fucking clue. "Eight?"

"On one hand? Sheesh, I guess I'm more special than I thought."

"Fuck you . . . smartass."

"I thought I was a dumb one?"

"Ugh! Just help me up so I can get out of here."

"Not. So. Fast. Stay still."

He gestures that now he wants to _remove_ my sunglasses, which I allow him to do. _Why_ I'm allowing him near when I'm extremely particular about which motherfuckers lay a hand on me, I don't know. He looks at my eyes. His eyes are the color of the glass bead I pegged him with, albeit a little blurrier because mine can't focus. Hmm, I've never noticed his eyes before. If they ever stop moving they'd be nice to look at, or maybe it's my eyes that are moving. I have no idea.

The landscape is still swirling around, and he's kind of swaying, wavy looking and somewhat trippy-ish? He moves around me to my back and touches my neck, poking and prodding.

_What the hell is he doing, touching me?_

Better yet, what the hell am _I_ doing, permitting Cullen to touch me?

"You're being a little hands-y, don't you think? You haven't even asked me out on a date yet, and I'm letting you feel me up?" He just laughs and brings his lips to my ear so no one else can hear, tickling me with the vibrations of his whispered words.

"Trust me, Isabella, if I were to 'Feel you up' as you so eloquently put it, I believe you wouldn't be complaining."

_Prick!_ _He did not just say that_.

Did he? Shit! Did I just think what I thought before he said that? No, I just _said_ what I thought before he said that. I just came on to him!

_Better coming on to than coming_.

Speak for yourself!

_I just did. _

Fuck you! It's Cullen! I can't say things like that. What the hell is wrong with me; I can't think straight. Maybe I do have a concussion.

"Good, it doesn't appear that you have any vertebral damage. Let's get you up and iced."

All of a sudden I'm being lifted. It feels like I'm on a trampoline. Everything's intensified, and I'm ready for my feet to touch the mat. But they don't.

"Rose, is it? Would you be kind enough to carry Isabella's backpack and accompany us to the nurse's office? Alice, would you please carry Isabella's skateboard? I'm sure she wouldn't want anything happening to it."

"Rose . . . Alice? What the fuck, bitches? Where have you been? You're just going to let him treat me like a fucking toddler? I have a rep to uphold."

"Shut up, B, and just let the guy carry you. I'm sure, after surviving that stunt, your street cred is safe."

"Thank you for agreeing with me, Rose." He just has to chime in with his gracious two cents.

"Thank YOU, P . . . I mean Edward." Edward? She called HIM Edward? Rose has never, ever called Cullen by his first name. Wow, I guess my brain really did get jostled. I must be hearing things now, too.

"Yes, thank you, Edward. It was very nice of you to step in and help." Alice winked at him, fucking winked! Damn, even she is succumbing. Am I in the right universe? I must be imagining things or some shit. That must be it. I'm hallucinating.

I just accept my punishment of this embarrassing moment and let him carry me. "Uh, just don't fucking drop me."

He smiles, fucking smiles, as he looks at me all sincere and shit. "I wouldn't think of it."

I feel completely vulnerable, which is something that doesn't sit well with me.

_B doesn't do vulnerable_.

This feels disturbingly different, almost nice.

_What?_

Shut up! It's as if I'm on an amusement ride—one that smells good and rocks over water with firm seats without any switchblade cuts or vomit stains . . .

_speaking of vomit_ . . .

"Shit, I'm going to hurl."

My adrenaline rush must be wearing off. The pain I now feel in my tailbone is excruciating. Mix that up with my scrambled brain and his slight movement, and it's triggering an intense nausea tsunami, causing my stomach to flip as the wave makes its way to shore or in this case the nearest thing I can spew on.

Cullen lowers me but doesn't completely let go. He turns and angles me towards a bush, holding back my hair with one hand while placing his forearm—outstretching dangerously low—across my hips with the other as I release my lunch . . . and probably my breakfast, too.

He hands me another handkerchief.

_What the?_

Is he a magician, too? Does he have them on a fucking spool in his coat? Is this guy for real? It's gotta be this head injury; it's all in my mind.

_What's next, hairy midgets and creepy clowns?_

"May I pick you up again, or do you need more time?"

"I'm good . . . Um, thank you." It pains me to say that. Why is this guy—the one I've been a miserable bitch to for the past three school years—being so nice to me?

_especially after bouncing a pellet off his_ _ass_

I suppose it won't kill me to deal with this for now while I figure it out later. It's not as if he's dragging me off into the woods somewhere. He keeps to himself and all, but I don't think he's a serial killer.

_Maybe he's a serial rapist_.

Maybe I ought to not think so much. It's not often I get offers from good looking guys to carry me who don't smell like lingering smoke, rancid puke, or stale beer. I think I'll just do what Rose requested and just shut up and enjoy this. After all, it's not like he'll kidnap me; I do have my posse.

* * *

A/N:

Geez, maybe Bella's not out of the woods yet.

What's up with Cullen? Why do you think he's being so nice?

Why is Bella letting him be so nice?

Tell me what you're thinking.

**I answer all reviews.**

* * *

Thank you to my wonderful beta, Chayasara.

* * *

Thank you to all of the new readers, reading my silliness.

Thank you for reading, period.

* * *

Also, please check out these stories by these wonderful ladies I'm prereading for:

Ohgeefantasy (Careless Hearts)

gabby1017 (Under My Nose)

bornonhalloween (Remastering Marcus) Follow the link on her Fanfiction site to her blog.

Jaymili (Lucky Ticket)

See you in a week.

PAD


	3. Chapter 3

Stephenie Meyer owns _Twilight_, but my thoughts are mine.

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Chapter 3

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Cullen carries me through the front entrance while a smiling Alice keeps her eyes glued to him as she holds the door open. Rose flips her hair, fluffing it out, as she pulls ahead, grabbing the knob on the door to the main office.

_Are they for real?_

"Excuse me, Mrs. Cope, Isabella took a nasty spill; may I bring her to the nurse's office?" He shows off a Bassett Hound expression, complete with pitiful eyes and down-turned jowls, to get his way.

_Is he for real?_

"Why of course, Edward, come right this way."

She says it nicely to him but sneers slightly at me, looking irritated by my disturbance. That curmudgeonly old hag of a school secretary is meaner than the Grinch himself. If I were here all alone, she'd probably send me on my way and tell me not to let the door hit me in the ass while she secretly hoped I'd die and be left in the parking lot only to be pecked at by vultures. Well, she might not be mean enough have those exact beliefs, but I know I'm definitely not her favorite person.

"Thank you, Mrs. Cope. Might I add that scarf looks lovely on you and truly brings out your Mediterranean blue eyes?"

"Oh, Edward, you always say the nicest things." She actually turns beet read and lowers her head to him.

_Damn, not her, too._

"I only speak the truth."

Oh brother! He better hurry up, getting me set down before I throw up again, listening to all of this sickening crap.

Mrs. Cope dials Nurse Hammond's number.

"Julia, Edward Cullen's here. Yes, I know he's a wonderful young man. He just brought Bella Swan in, saying she's injured herself _again_. Yes, I know school's over and vacation has just started, but I'm sure he wouldn't have brought her in if he didn't think she needed to be here . . . "

_You got that right._

"Thank you, Julia . . . Go right on in, Edward."

"Thank you, Mrs. Cope."

"You're welcome."

He brings me to one of the sickbeds but doesn't set me down yet.

"Nurse Hammond, forgive me for bringing Isabella in when I know you are about to depart for the summer, but she just sustained a substantial injury while using her skateboard."

"Why is that not surprising?" She says it as she rolls her eyes at me, and I'm thinking, "I love you, too, bitch".

"As I was witness to her mishap, I believe she may have fractured her coccyx and sustained a concussion. Would you be kind enough to call Isabella's father, Chief Swan, to ask him if he would grant me his permission to drive Isabella to the hospital to have my father assess her condition, considering I was about to leave to go there anyway. I understand that this breaks with normal protocol, but there are special circumstances. According to my father, whom I had just finished talking to before Isabella's accident, Chief Swan had just informed him that there had been a multi-vehicle pile-up, involving an overturned tractor trailer on the one-oh-one, tying up not only Chief Swan but all of the town's paramedics and available ambulances."

"No shit?"

"Yes, Isabella. I had just finished talking with my father and was about to leave for the hospital to volunteer my help when you _made your presence known to me _and had your unfortunate occurrence. My father said something about your father saying you didn't have your phone. Your father told my father to tell me to tell you that he would not be home for a while and that you should just plan on making your way to La Push to stay with the Blacks because he would most likely have a very late night ahead of him."

Yes! No change in plans; keg party is still on the Rez! But, shit, I have no phone! My dad impounded it because I may have visited a few sites I shouldn't have, racked up some mad pay-per-porn charges, and video-sexted once too often.

Charlie and I have an understanding. He's given up trying to make me conform to being a perfect kid. So we've come to this agreement: as long as I'm not _caught_ doing illegal things where he has to come and arrest me, I engage in mildly questionable behavior as long as I stay put, don't risk my own or others' safety, and don't tell him anything about it. The Blacks are cool and good friends with my dad. He knows what happens on the Rez stays on the Rez. No one leaves unless he or she is legal to drive. Quileute Native American man-boys don't mess around. I've seen them pick up kids' cars and put them up on blocks, keeping many a drunken asshole from trying to drive. It's not wise to tangle with those big suckers. Besides, it's actually better to have a party supervised by adults—even if those said adults supervising are barely legal themselves. It's not like we have a complete lack of supervision; the tribal elders chill somewhere else on another part of the compound, leaving the mild mayhem to those who are of college age and are better equipped to deal with us high school shits. Trust me. With the big boys watching out for us, those in attendance behave much more responsibly. You can't stop kids who want to experiment from being kids, but you can keep an eye on them and help them _try_ to become responsible adults, especially when guys as big as the Easter Island statues are the ones babysitting, ready to throw any out-of-line hellraisers into the Pacific to sober them up.

_Adrenaline is a powerful sober-upper-er. _

I may have experienced the Quileute form of curtailing once or twice. No one likes freezing their jean-covered ass when sleeping off a buzz in soaking wet clothes with sand up their crack while being dog-slobbered on the face by a roving beach mutt the next morning. I may have had a little experience with that, too. Just sayin'.

"Nurse Hammond, would it be alright to get some ice on Isabella first before calling her father?" He flashes her that full-on grin, but judging by her nonchalance, he appears a bit disappointed by her lack of complete attention towards him.

_Seems like he's a spoiled shit._

Maybe.

What he fails to realize, though, is it's not his fault she's not nibbling his kibble, and trust me, kibble's not too far off.

Woof! That's my opinion. That, and the fact that she's sort of given me this vibe—no, not _that_ kind of "vibe"—that she may be probing to see if I'm into what she's into, which is definitely not Edward, nor any other man for that matter. I'm pretty sure she barks up an entirely different tree.

She takes her focus off a "Words With Friends" game to answer him. "Yeah, of course, Edward. Icepacks are in the freezer. Help yourself."

"Rose? Alice? Would you be so kind as to open the folded blanket at the bottom of the bed and roll it up, coiling it so that it may be placed under Isabella's, um, gluteus maximus?"

I watch Rose and Alice bat their eyes at each other, clueless as to what Edward just said.

"He wants you to shape the blanket into a giant fruit rollup so it takes the pressure off my ass when he sets me down."

While still in his arms, he angles his head to meet my eyes. I see his expression change from his usual self-assurance to one of mild surprise.

"Well put, Isabella. That was actually an excellent example."

Why do I actually feel as if I just earned a gold star? His words make me feel as if I should be in special classes, riding that damn little bus, which shouldn't honestly make me feel less capable because there isn't anything wrong with special kids. Like me, they're tough little shits.

"Although I do dumb things, contrary to what people think of me, I'm not completely stupid."

"I have _never_ said you were." He says it with such conviction, I picture him as a charisma-filled televangelist standing at his tricked-out podium with me being in his audience and way too eager to empty my pockets.

"I should be thankful then . . ."

_Praise Cullen._

You're one of the few."

Rose and Alice make quick work of the blanket, placing it on the bed. Then Edward carefully lowers me onto it.

I immediately miss his warmth . . . smell . . . comfort?

_B, stop being such as wuss. He' just a guy._

Almost immediately after my head hits the pillow, the room starts spinning.

"Whoa." I throw my arms out, hoping to grab on to anything I can to help me get off this runaway merry-go-round. Edward grabs my hands and pulls me slightly forward.

"Is that better?"

I nod.

"Close your eyes and determine if this position still affects you."

I do as he asks.

_Now you're one of his groupies, too._

"Shut up!"

He looks surprised at my outburst.

"Sorry, that wasn't directed at you."

"Okay?" He says it looking somewhat confused and unconvinced as he may be contemplating taking me to Port Angeles' psych version of Bellevue instead of Forks' hospital.

"Actually, it's a lot better." His hands are clean, warm, and dry instead of dirty, cool, and clammy.

He's pulled me up halfway and is now searching the room for things he can use to prop me up.

"Alice, would you put Isabella's skateboard lengthwise on the bed in back of her? Rose, please place her book bag in front of the skateboard; then reposition her pillow against it."

I lean back.

"How is it now?" he asks.

It's seriously doing the trick. The room's not spinning anymore, and the pressure on my tailbone is bearable, but I want just a little more _comfort_."

"Would you mind surrendering your jacket, Ed-ward?" His name feels funny rolling off my tongue. I don't think I've called him by his first name since grade school. "A little higher would be just right."

_Being high right now would be just right, too._

Rose and Alice are wide-eyed and looking at me like I'm about to throw a Kardashian hissy fit because I've discovered a pea under my mattress or maybe pee on my mattress.

I stare directly at them and quickly stick out my tongue. "You know, there are wasps out this time of year, and I'd hate to see either of you get stung on the tongue with your jaws dropping as they are."

Edward surrenders his nice, warm, wonderfully smelling, soft-leather jacket to prop me up further. He then opens the freezer and retrieves two ice packs, which he sets on the bed.

He pulls me forward to a ninety-degree angle with one hand—yes, I paid attention in geometry class because it helped me with my skateboarding moves—then carefully slides one brick of icy gel under my butt next to my tailbone with the other. He also tucks a gel-pack inside the pillowcase and lowers me slowly back against the pillow. Both packs are cold and uncomfortable, but I'm kind of glad he stepped up and did this for me. The pain in my ass is starting to set in and hurt like a motherfucker, and I'm getting a weird headache.

"Edward, I have Chief Swan on the phone; he would like to speak with you."

"Yes, Ma'am."

_More like sir._

"Isabella, Rose, Alice, please excuse me."

I'm thinking if he's this nice here, visiting his house would be really awkward.

_And why would you be thinking about checking out his crib?_

I choose to ignore my trouble-making thoughts and decide to focus on why my dad wants to talk to Edward.

_No good can come out of this._

He leaves but doesn't shut the door, hopefully making it easier for me to eavesdrop.

I turn to look at my girls, who are now not only dreamy-eyed and completely enthralled by his manners, but are ready to start squealing at any moment. I'll address their pigpen antics later. For now, I have to hear what Cullen is saying. Yes, I said Cullen. Talking to Charlie doesn't make him my favorite person right now. I give Rose and Alice the "zip-it" sign so I can check out the phone convo to hear if Skater Boy's going to implicate me, telling Chief Swan I popped him in the ass.

Cullen does a lot of "yes sir-ing" as he listens to my father's questions and only gives the minimal amount of information needed to describe the stupid maneuver I pulled. This is not only a relief to me but also earns Cullen his "Edward" status again, at least for now—that is until he does something to piss me off again.

Charlie thanks Edward and most likely tells him he'll be tied up in "cop stuff" for hours, waiting for hazmat and forensic teams to show up and do their thing. He probably also tells Edward he wants updates on my condition when the hospital finally checks me out. Before ending the call, Edward asks if he should hang up and call Charlie back using his cellphone so I can talk to him personally before leaving for the hospital. I'm fairly certain my dad just told Edward that he trusts his assessment of my situation as long as it remains non life-threatening. I'm guessing that Charlie says that he will talk to me later before I'm ready to leave for the Rez. Edward exchanges cell numbers with my dad—which is not necessarily strange given what's happened but just weird, in general—and says he'll notify Charlie immediately if there's any change in my condition. Edward then hangs up the phone and returns.

"Isabella?"

"It's not necessary for you to regurgitate your whole conversation with my dad. I think I made out much of what was said."

"All right then. Do you feel well enough to go to the hospital yet, or do you need more time? I'm sure Nurse Hammond will let you borrow the ice packs and blanket—which I will personally return."

"I think I'm good to go but may need to borrow a garbage bag so I won't 'chuck-up' in your car."

"I'm sure, in that case, borrowing won't be necessary, as they would most likely want you to keep it." He gives me a wink and half-smirk to go along with that remark.

And we're back to smart ass again.

"Just find me a damn bag so we can get out of here."

Nurse Jackie, I mean Julia, already has one pulled out of her desk drawer and ready to hand to me.

_Anxious much?_

"Thanks."

"Yes, thank you, Nurse Hammond, for helping us and contacting Chief Swan."

"Rose, Alice, would you please remain here with Isabella while I bring my car around to the front entrance?"

"Yeah, Edward, sure," Rose pipes in.

"No problem," Alice adds.

"Well, in that case, allow me to get going."

"Thank you, Edward, for, um, taking care of Bella. She's kind of stubborn about these things sometimes."

"Rose!" I give her a challenging stare, warning her to shut the fuck up.

"It's no problem."

"Rose is right, Edward. Thank you, and good luck with her."

"Alice!" She's going to get hers, too.

There's nothing like being kicked off that damned bus then being run over by it while your friends are the ones driving.

"Well, if you'll excuse me."

Edward leaves to get his car.

"What was that all about?" I raise my eyebrow and plaster a scowl on my face, ready to smack shit out of them—that is, if and when I can ever move my ass again.

"Well, B, there's no denying that you can be one difficult bitch sometimes," Rose comments.

"Like you aren't."

"This isn't about me. That boy's done a hell of a lot for you today and is still doing it. All you've pretty much done is cop an attitude. I think, for once in your life, you should try to lighten up. He's nice, polite, easy to look at, and could have turned your ass in. Instead, he's done the Good Samaritan thing and actually looked out for you. I think that deserves at least some of your consideration."

"I'll think about it."

Cullen comes back into the office and makes his way through the nurse's door. "If you're all set, let's get you going."

He comes over next to the bed and leans in. "Isabella, put your arm around my neck and pull yourself up a bit so I don't have to put that much pressure on your spine."

Again, I do as he asks, and it feels strange being this close to a boy I don't like with my palm cupping his neck as my fingers find the soft fine hairs at the base of his head. Well, it's not that I hate him or anything, but he's _Cullen_.

"Rose, would you please get Isabella's backpack and grab the blanket? And Alice, would you get her skateboard again and bring the icepacks?"

Rose nods, but Alice speaks as Edward begins carrying me through both offices and out into the lobby. "Edward, Rose and I can just drop off Bella's things at her house. We know where she keeps her spare key. This way, you won't have to carry her stuff everywhere."

"Wait a minute. Aren't you coming with us to the hospital? I'm sure Edward wouldn't mind dropping you off afterward. Right, Edward?" I feel a slight sense of panic being left alone with him.

Rose gets the front door before he carries me through it.

"Isabella, I would have no trouble bringing Rose and Alice in my car if it had more than two seats, but they are certainly welcome to follow us to the hospital."

Just then, I see his car. Holy shit! His family must have some serious pull somewhere. It's a 1957 Volvo Sport P1900 convertible. Only sixty-seven of them were made during the two years they were in production. I'm actually pretty fucking proud of myself that I know this shit because Jake Black, my dad's friend's son from the Rez drills all this useless car trivia crap into me complete with pictures when I hang out in his garage and smoke weed while my dad and his dad drink brews. The thing has to be worth at least sixty grand. Who in their right fucking mind would give a sixty thousand dollar antique automobile to a seventeen-year-old?

"Isabella, I hope you won't mind riding in such a small car. It was my grandmother's. She passed away a few months ago and left it to me in her will. She really enjoyed driving it on sunny summer days and made me promise I would continue to care for and enjoy it when she passed on."

Damn, how come I don't have any rich, rolling-in-dough, ready-to-kick-off relatives willing to leave me cool shit like this?

"I'm sure I can manage if you put the top down. I'm a little claustrophobic."

_Since when?_

Hey, I'm not hurting anyone here. This little white lie will get me a jump on my tan in addition to bumping up my adrenaline.

"I think that can be arranged."

Damn, he's looks as happy I am with the prospect of riding in this little gem with the wind in his face.

Edward gets me situated in the passenger seat on top of the still-coiled blanket and carefully-placed ice pack while he rests the other gel pack just below the headrest at the base of my skull. After seat-belting me in, he closes my door and proceeds to drop the ragtop.

"Alice and I have to get going, B. We have to pick up stuff for the party. Give us a call when you're done at the hospital, and we'll come pick you up."

"Yeah, Bella, I hope they don't keep you that long and that everything will be okay," Alice adds.

Suddenly, those serial killer, rapist thoughts resurface.

Shaking them off, I respond, "I'm anxious to just get this over with so I don't have to burden Edward anymore."

See, I can be nice.

"Actually, it won't be necessary for Rose and Alice to pick you up. Providing the hospital won't keep you, I will not only be bringing you to the La Push Reservation but will be also be staying overnight with you at the party as well."

_What?_

* * *

A/N:

Whew! I feel as if I birthed another child with this one. I'm out of practice. LOL

Okay, tell me what you all are thinking about this.

Why on earth would Edward want to stay with Bella, of all people?

What do you think Bella's thinking about now?

* * *

Thank you, my wonderful beta, Chayasara, for pointing out to me why I so desperately need you.

* * *

Please check out the work of these wonderful ladies I preread for who continue to whip at their WIPs as I speak:

Bornonhalloween: Remastering Marcus her FF profile has the link for more whipping

Gabby1017: Under My Nose this gem's definitely in season with Mardi Gras just behind us

Ohgeefantasy: Careless Hearts angsty but oh so good.

* * *

Also please check out some of the other stories on my profile and a new story I'm messing with that begins as a poem entitled: Hard Crack. It too is seasonally appropriate.

* * *

Thank you for reading.

PAD


	4. Chapter 4

Stephenie Meyer owns _Twilight_, but I own my plot.

Chapter 4

Never mind what; it's more like "What the fuck?"

I wait until he gets this Matchbox® (or is it more of a Hot Wheels™ car?) onto the open road to ask my burning question to seriously assess how bad off I am right now in order to determine whether bailing out of this moving vehicle will contribute that much more to my injuries.

I need to raise my voice over the low trumpeting rumble of the car. "Uh, why do you feel the need to bring me to the, um, party . . . _and_ stay with me?"

I have to get him to reveal why he's doing this. Maybe this is a slow burn on his part to get even. I'm starting to shit bricks here because I just realized I haven't any weapons either if he chooses to try to kidnap me. I snuck my nunchucks to school in my bag today because I wanted to show off my skills at La Push later, but now my bag's probably sitting on top of Alice's feet in Rose's car on the way to my house. My brain is foggy; otherwise, I would have remembered that shit. Shit, The Boys Scouts got nothing on me; I'm always prepared. I also have a mini X-ACTO® knife set in my backpack, too. Charlie had to carry it in for me to carve with in art class on the first day of school. Believe or not, I actually was allowed to take it home today without an act of Congress or change in policy from the school board. I guess the administration is just numb to bullshit rules by now. They—like the students—just don't give a rat's ass by this time of the year. They're just happy to get rid of us.

Getting back to my present paranoia, I feel the adrenaline I always crave, returning, which fortunately will help with the pain—considering I'm starting to feel as if I've been run over by a truck. But I wish it was returning because I was out doing stunts or really enjoying the wind blowing in my face from the ride in this awesome sardine can I'm in and not because I'm starting to freak out.

_Keep calm_.

Yeah. I breathe deeply even though it hurts. Keep calm for murderers and rapists.

_Better add "Bellanappers" to that list, too._

He forces his Clark's-Teaberry-gum-colored tongue out of his mouth to wet his lips before speaking.

Grandma Higgenbotham still chews that stuff_._

_Yeah, that and Skoal®; damn, her teeth get nasty from that stuff. _

The gum actually smells fairly decent.

_Unfortunately, it does little to offset her reeking like mothballs all the time. _

He, too, gives a louder reply, enunciating each word with his voice a few decibels higher. "Isabella, regardless of your prior actions directed at me, including but not limited to the numerous occasions you've chosen to taunt, berate, and/or challenge me into responding to your juvenile behavior, I could not, in good conscience, just leave you unattended after experiencing the trauma your body endured. I assumed you exercised poor judgment and inadequate control when you saw me move towards you, perceiving me as a threat—a threat in your mind where you actually thought after years of belittlement, I had finally snapped and was going to exact my revenge . . ."

I watch how he doesn't take his eyes off the road and how his tone is too controlled, too exacting—all Jeffrey Dahmer-ish—like he's been rehearsing these words to say to me for years.

_It's always the quiet ones you have to look out for, right?_

And speaking of exacting, I really wish I had those knives.

"However, the reality of the situation is, I had already gone to my car and was about to leave when I checked my messages. Seeing one was from my father, I spoke with him immediately. He told me to pass the instructions along from your father to you, which is what I was in the process of doing. Without having an opportunity to explain why I chose _this_—of all times to approach you—you reacted as would a spooked mustang and bolted away from me as I drew nearer. The bottom line is: I feel partially responsible for you getting hurt and would feel horrible if I were to be the cause of you slipping into a coma . . . or worse."

_Whoa!_

I feel more adrenaline coming on. "Um, do you think that could happen?"

"I've seen people experience lesser falls who have died. Yes, I know it can happen.

"Okay."

Before, I was somewhat blowing smoke, but now he's really starting to scare the shit out of me. My past concussions didn't have me throwing up in bushes, experiencing strange pinging in my ears, or making my eyes unable to see straight. I have had the stars and blackouts but not this other unusual stuff.

"Isabella?" He turns to glance at me, briefly taking his eyes off the road then places his right hand on top of my left one, squeezing it in reassurance. "I didn't tell you those things to worry you, but you did ask. I'm not qualified to give any expert medical opinion, or advice, but I have seen my share of calamitous instances, as I'm sure have you. Each occurrence has a unique set of circumstances leading up to it, and of course, unexpected outcomes. No two brain injuries are exactly alike. In doing a preliminary assessment though, I think you'll probably be all right and may have to take it easy for at least a few days, but as I said, I'm certainly no doctor. I merely did to you what I could remember others doing to me. As for times I couldn't remember, well, I was unconscious.

"You make it sound like that's been a lot."

"As I've said, I have had my share of falls, and judging by your initial response to my care—wanting to brush me off—so have you. Much like me, sometimes, your will overrules your common sense."

"So if you think I'm going to be all right, why didn't you just let Rose and Alice take me from the hospital when I was released and bring me to La Push?"

"Whether you lost consciousness or not is irrelevant; you had, and continue to have, symptoms associated with a head injury, so it is for that reason I plan to do the chivalrous thing and spend the majority of the next twenty-four hours with you just to be sure you're not in harm's way. Somehow I don't think your friends would be as vigilant as I in caring for you."

"You're kidding me, right?"

"I'm _dead_ serious . . ."

I don't like the way he says _dead_, all slow and creepy like Vincent Price when he narrated Michael Jackson's "Thriller". I even expect Cullen to burst into a rolling cackle at the end.

"Besides, today I feel the need to sit back, reflect, and unconcern myself with my own personal plight and just focus on someone else for a change. It's also an open party, and believe me or not, I was actually invited.

Maybe I'm already in a coma. I have to endure a whole day of Cullen, _and_ he was invited?

_Yeah, this dream you're having is fast becoming a fucking nightmare. It's time to wake up!_

I blink a few times, trying to clear my brain, keeping my head stationary and pushed back into the icepack, which is starting to warm up. I watch Edward out of the corner of my eye. I watch the intensity of his concentration while he maneuvers this clown car _(or is it a midget one?)_ over the road. He's actually quite a good driver—very observant with a quick reaction time. He's always looking way ahead, much like I practice when I'm on the road or do anything involving some risk for that matter.

I continue to watch him, watch how his crazy hair insanely dances as the wind whips it all about with no specific intentions, leaving wispy strands somewhat curled and relaxed when he slows on a curve only for them to reanimate when he throttles up. His profile is striking against the lush green backdrop of the Pacific rainforest. He has the type of nose I'd like to mold a likeness of out of clay. He should have lived millennia ago in ancient times. The Greeks would have not only embraced his ideals, but also would have celebrated his classic looks in marble statuary or an epic poem. His distinguished jaw, prominent chin, and strong brow make him easy on the eyes, and yet, somehow, this—him driving in his small convertible on a twisted country road instead of sipping wine while dressed in a toga and philosophizing about life—just seems to fit him.

_Are you sure you didn't hit your head? Maybe you really are in that coma._

I can see the sadness in his expression, and it's sad. It's sad because I think he truly enjoys being in the open air. When he enters a patch of mist, he turns toward me and smiles.

_I guess he was right about the impending rain._

I rarely see him this relaxed. He's always composed at school but never lets down his guard. Here he's . . . different, like he doesn't mind _me_ being here, sharing his space.

"We're almost there, but if you'd like, I can pull over and put the top back up."

I won't deny him this happiness.

_You're getting soft._

"No, it's fine. I'm actually one of the few who likes the rain, all weather for that matter. I guess I just love the outdoors."

"I understand your sentiment; unfortunately, I've missed being outside. With training after school and on weekends, I haven't had much time to truly enjoy anything but skating."

There it is, that sadness again.

He's actually starting to bring me down with him.

_Don't tell me you're actually starting to feel sorry for him. We don't do empathy, B._

No! All right, maybe a little.

_Harumph!_

As much as I claim not to discriminate whom I bully, there was always a reason I picked on Cullen. He's strong mentally and tough physically. I love how nothing rattles him. He walks around school like an arrogant prick with Zen control.

_Fucking wuss probably meditates._

Sometimes when I try to antagonize him, it's like poking a monk. I can't even get a rise out of him.

_You haven't actually tried._

He's super smart, too, and knows the answers to everything. It's as if he were born with knowledge. I never see him struggle with anything.

_That really pisses you off._

I may not have his kind of brain, but that doesn't mean I don't know things.

_Damn straight!_

I read stuff I'm passionate about, like finding out about what's trending with new boarding moves or how to get more air when doing jumps and stuff. I even look things up online when I don't know something because I don't want to appear stupid. I dealt with enough of that bullshit when I was younger, when a teacher would call on me, catching me daydreaming, not paying attention. I refused to answer because I didn't hear the question, so I just kept my mouth shut. Kids laughed at me, so I got mean.

_Cullen never laughed at you._

Shut up! I can't help that I didn't care about half the stuff taught or that I didn't come from perfect parents with a perfect household who could assist me with things. I actually got over nineteen hundred on my SATs without any help from anyone; that has to count for something.

_But you won't tell Alice and Rose._

They don't need to know so they can rank on me, and it's not as if I'm planning to go to college.

_I think you resent the fact that Cullen has always had his act together._

Maybe I do. Maybe I need to shake up his composure because it's pissing me off.

_Do it and see what team he really shoots for._

My clothes are starting to get damp from the mist, which has now turned into gentle rain. It's no biggie and will truly work to my advantage. I subtly yank a hair out of my head with my right hand and drop it on my chest, holding it in place without catching Cullen's attention. I make like I've just discovered it and pick off the loose strand, letting it fly off in the wind, while uncoupling the front enclosure to my bra. On a safe stretch of road with no cars in sight, I lift my T-shirt and angle my body towards him. Fuck the icepack that slides down my seat.

He turns his head to look at me. I watch his eyes drift down to my chest, but he says nothing as his stare lingers a bit longer than necessary. He turns his head and resumes watching the road. I then see him crack a smile, as his cheek, facing me, turns pink.

Oh yeah, he's definitely interested in shooting a few pucks into my net.

I give him my smug reply as I lower my shirt over my now freezing tits and tight sensitive nipples then refasten the clasp.

"Sorry. My boobs were sticking to my shirt from the rain. I had to air them out a bit."

Skater Boy just shakes his head the tinniest bit as he pulls in front of the hospital's main entrance, still maintaining that slight grin plastered to his face.

_Cullen's without a comeback; score one for Boarder Girl._

* * *

A/N: So it looks like Bella has some inner turmoil she's dealing with.

What do you think she's thinking?

What do you think Edward is thinking?

Please share your thoughts.

* * *

I will have an update ready in a day or two for "Watching You", so if you haven't checked it out please do so to get caught up. I'm also posting an update for "Rude Awakenings", too. I'm also working on "Boys Will Be", "Hard Crack", and "Unhinged". I may post an update or two to "Never Judge By The Cover" as well. I think I'm out of hibernation.

* * *

Please check out the work of these lovely ladies I preread for:

Bornonhalloween ("Remastering Marcus" is truly heating up)

Gabby1017 ("Under My Nose" keeps getting better and better)

Ohgeefantasy (Yay, to Ohgee for her Badboys of Twilight Contest win. Check out "Pudding Cup" and "Careless Hearts"

* * *

**There is SOPA legislation proposed to give copyright owners extraordinary powers. If you do not want to see our stories taken down, please sign the petition before Wednesday March 19.**

**Send me a PM and I'll send you the link.**

**It's also been posting on Facebook.**

**I'm Apocalyptic Depository there. Come friend me.**

**THIS IS SERIOUS!**

* * *

Thank you for reading.

See you in a week.

PAD


	5. Chapter 5

Stephenie Meyer owns all of _Twilight_. I own my plot and peeps.

Chapter 5

Edward wheels me into the hospital and helps me check in.

Charlie called ahead of time, letting the staff know I was on my way. Edward also evidently called his dad, alerting him of my situation before we left the school.

It's a good thing, too, because the ambulances are on their way from that big accident, so the hospital staff will take care of me first.

After I get admitted to the ER with my lame, white Tyvek® I.D. bracelet, Edward pushes me through the big-ass electronic double doors to one of the examining rooms and gets me up onto one of the hospital beds. He grabs one of those fucked-up johnny things with the air-conditioned backs from one of the cabinet drawers.

"Um, you'll need to take everything off and put this on with the opening in the back."

"Who died and left you boss?"

He already looks a bit frustrated with me. "Please, Isabella, the emergency room is short-staffed as it is because of a viral outbreak, but with the influx of injuries anticipated from the accident, they'll need every free person they can get, paid or volunteer.

"I'm just jerking your chain." His cheeks flush somewhat as I say this because I just have to fuck with him.

_Stop thinking about jerking something else of his._

"Are you going to examine me, too? Are you sure you don't want it to open in the front for easier access?" I run my tongue lightly over my bottom lip then bite down on it after I say that.

His voice drops an octave, and he clears his throat as his lower half shifts a bit. "No, Isabella, that won't be necessary, considering the treating physician will most likely be interested in your neck and spine. Would you, uh, like help getting yourself undressed?"

"Actually, you can help me get out of my shorts."

"Okay." I study his face for any break in his exterior calm. Nothin'.

He closes the door to the examining room as I unfasten the belt around my waist of the lengthy black jean skateboarding shorts. He could probably "pants" me with how loose these are, but I make this a long, drawn-out process.

_I bet he'll have something long and drawn by the time you're done with him._

"Would you mind holding a blanket up so I can take off my shirt and bra?"

He grunts to clear his vocal cords, "I can do that."

He holds up a thick blue thermal blanket, blocking his sight as I carefully lift my shirt over my head and undo my bra, complete with the stripper rhythm I'm humming. I toss my clothes over the top of the "screen" Edward's created, hoping that my bra lands on him.

I then start inching down my shorts but need to ask Edward for his help.

"Edward, I need assistance here; put the blanket down, and give me your hands."

"Okay". He shoos away the bullfrog that's been hiding in his throat and lowers the blue barrier separating us. Edward squeezes his lids together, shutting his eyes tightly.

Surprisingly, he's not trembling. Maybe the boy's got experience under his belt.

_Judging by the tenting in his pants, I think he's got more than just experience._

I place his hands, one on each of my hips, over the outside of the fabric, pulling down my pants. I grab his hands again and place them on my bikinis. He slides down my underwear a little more slowly than he did the pants. The pads of his fingers graze my outer thighs and knee pits, causing me to shudder and squirm from the unavoidable tickling, which unfortunately sends a jolt of pain up my ass and spine as he pulls the last bit of material from away from my toes.

"Will you help me into this contraption?" Of course, he can't see the hospital gown I'm holding up, so again I guide his hands. He actually fingers the underside of my breast because I may have deliberately moved.

"Excuse me." He gives his words quite collectedly. "Is the front of the gown securely around you so that I may tie the back?

"Yeah. It's good."

He steps behind me and proceeds to tie the Chinese puzzle around my neck. "There; all done."

Edward turns away and grabs his jacket, folding it over his arm in front of his pants just as we hear a knock at the door.

One very blond, very hot, very blue-eyed, white lab-coated Doc Cullen enters. Everybody knows everyone in this town, and Edward's father, Carlisle, is no exception.

"Son." Carlisle greets Edward with a nod.

"Dad." Edward greets Carlisle with one, too. "Isabella, Dad, please excuse me; I need to use the restroom." Carlisle and Edward exchange a knowing look. Edward is beseeching while Carlisle just smiles and turns toward me.

"So Isabella, Edward gave me the rundown on your accident. Can you tell me where it hurts, and on a scale of one to ten, ten being excruciating, what level of pain you are experiencing?"

I tell the Doc about my neck, tailbone, dizziness, shooting stars, nausea, vomiting, ear-ringing, light sensitivity, and wrist pain from me bracing myself upon impact. I have a high tolerance for pain, so we agree my pain's somewhere between seven and eight, and he starts me on a morphine drip before he sends me for X-rays and a CT scan.

Edward's still not back yet, so this little old guy, Waylon—the town historian—wheels me to and from X-ray and the CT scan.

I swear he is the slowest orderly known to man, pushing my bed, but it's a good thing because I hear Edward before I see him. "I don't know what to do, Dad. This is it. I don't have any more time. This was my only chance. I'll never get another one."

As I'm wheeled past the Doc's office door, I catch Edward's face streaming with tears while Carlisle hugs him.

I actually feel a little tightness in my chest after watching their moment.

_What's up with that?_

No . . . what's up with Cullen?

Waylon finishes pushing me to my room, and a girl by the name of Heidi—she was a senior last year, I think—helps me to dress.

_Cullen was actually a lot more careful. _

Dr. Cullen comes back in my room. There is still no sign of Edward. The Doc fits me with a cervical collar and hands me a donut for my ass. He also props up a pair of crutches against my bed and puts a brace around my wrist. Additionally, he leaves a bag with heavy-duty laxatives. I forgot what a bitch it is to break your tailbone.

_Yay._

Edward comes back in the room with his eyes slightly puffy but quickly takes his driving shades out of his pocket and puts them over his eyes. Carlisle hooks me up with some Vicodin, too, which he hands over to Edward . . .

_What's that all about?_

. . . along with my discharge and follow-up instructions and anti-inflammatories.

"Isabella, it's my understanding that Edward will be staying with you this evening. I need to stress to you that I am putting him in charge of you and your pain meds as you are not to make any major decisions for the next 24-48 hours. You will also need to abstain from drinking alcohol . . ."

_No!_

". . . and please communicate immediately to Edward if you begin feeling poorly or have any additional symptoms. Am I clear on this?"

"Yes, Dr. Cullen."

"I've already discussed this with your father, and he's fine with it, and please call me Carlisle."

**Paging Dr. Cullen, room two. Dr. Cullen, room two.**

Sorry to make this short, but it looks like the first ambulance from the accident has just arrived. Trauma waits for no one."

"Thank you, Doctor. . . . Carlisle. I'm glad I Iet Edward talk me into coming in."

"Yes, Dad. Thank you for getting Bella in before the others. I'm sorry about not staying to help."

"You go on, son. You've had a rough day yourself. Have fun, but be responsible.

"Always."

With that, Edward sets the foam donut onto the wheelchair and puts his hands around my waist, lifting then setting me into the chair. He picks up the school blanket and places it into a hospital bag he loops over one handle of the wheelchair. He positions my crutches onto one of the footrests before wheeling me out of my room.

Already having brought the car around to the front entrance, he helps me back into the passenger seat, careful to hold me tightly against him while he resets the donut and rids my seat of the icepacks, placing them inside the bag along with the school blanket, putting it in the trunk. Edward also grabs my crutches and bag of meds, adding them to the trunk as well. It's a good thing I'm only 5'3". If it were Edward who had gotten hurt, his crutches would have to be at least a foot taller. Those crutches definitely wouldn't fit in this pillbox. Edward buckles me in again and hands me my sunglasses I had left in the car.

The lull of the engine relaxes me. Our ride is quiet, and I'm drifting in and out of sleep. Occasionally Edward throws out a "How are you feeling?" I just give him back a "Fine" or "Sore" or "Tired" reply.

"Would you like to stop at your house and get your phone? The Chief may have told me where he hid it," Edward says with a slight grin.

"Hell, yeah! I'd really like to change, too, if you don't mind. I'm not really down with sportin' grass stains on my ass all night."

He brings me to my house, which is totally fucked-up. Cullen, in my house? My meds are really kickin' in now, and I go to pull myself out of the car, but Edward stops me. "Allow me."

I do, and he carries me to my doorstep. I can't find it in me to care. I give him the house key I keep in my front pocket, and he opens the door.

"Can you carry me upstairs?"

"Certainly, Isabella."

We reach the top of the stairs. "Mine's the room on the right." I push open the door with my feet. "You can set me down."

Edward gapes as he takes in the landscape of my room.

"Um, Isabella, how do you find anything?" He looks as if his inner OCD is ready to jump out my open window.

"I know where my shit is. Honestly, I do."

"Do you need my help still?"

"No, I'm good. I took a shower this morning. I just need to change. You can carry me back down in a few minutes."

"Okay. I'll wait in the hall if you don't mind." He sounds thoroughly relieved.

"Sure".

I rummage around my floor, littered with all kinds of crap. I manage to find jeans and clean underwear that don't gag me when I sniff them. I kick off my DCs carefully and drop my shorts and underwear. It's weird having Cullen on the other side of my door like some sort of creeper. Quickly ridding myself of that thought, I dress my lower half. I find a clean bra, tee, and hoodie and proceed to repeat the process for the top of me.

_Time to summon the chauffeur_.

"I'm ready, James."

Edward cautiously opens my door and looks at me. He shakes his head and rolls his eyes at my choice of shirt, the one with "Bite My Lady Bits" I custom silk-screened in art class.

He carries me back downstairs, locks up, and hands me back my key, which I place in my pocket. Once he sets me in the passenger seat and belts me in again, he seats and belts himself then starts the engine, but before taking off, he pulls out my cell phone from his pocket.

"Yes! Edward, if you weren't you, I'd kiss you."

That earns me a tiny smile before he swallows hard and pulls away.

_You just so fucking hurt his feelings_.

And for once, I really wish I could take it back.

A/N:

It appears as though our girl is a bit concerned about hurting Edward's feelings.

What are your thoughts on what Edward is thinking?

Do you think Edward really likes Bella or just feels obligated to her?

Please leave me your words.

Thank you, Chaysara, for fixing me when I was incapable of fixing myself. The flu will do that to you.

Please check out the works of these wonderful ladies I preread for:

Bornonhalloween : "Remastering Marcus"

Gabby1017: "Under My Nose"

Jaymili : "Lucky Ticket" "Too Gay For You" (Please show her some love; she lost all of her electronics in a flood.)

Ohgeefantasy "Careless Hearts" "Pudding Cup"

Please also check out the recent updates to "Never Judge By The Cover" and "Hard Crack".

Thank you all for reading.

PAD


	6. Chapter 6

Stephenie Meyer owns all of _Twilight_. I own the plot and peeps.

* * *

Chapter 6

* * *

"You're not that bad."

"Do you care to define 'that bad'"?

"Well, you're clean, polite, really fucking smart, and rock a pair jeans—that is when you wear them— which isn't very often. You also smell nice, too, but don't get me wrong; there's nothing wrong with those qualities. It's just that you're _Cullen_. You're too straight. Do you even know how to have fun?"

"People have varying definitions of that word. I'm having fun now, driving with the sun in my face and the wind in my hair, having a conversation with someone I would have never thought I would be talking to, my nemesis."

He turns and smirks again, and this time it makes me clench my thighs. "Ow."

His playful expression turns serious as he's nearly ready to pull over. "Are you okay? Do you need more medication? You're not due for another half hour. Can you wait? I was really hoping to get some food into you first. You shouldn't take opiates without food. You could vomit again."

"I'm good. I can wait."

And I do.

We get to La Push about four o'clock. I smell barbecue chicken, wood-cooked hot dogs, and grilled hamburgers, swirling in the salty air. Cars are lining the road, but Edward manages to find an opening closer to the beach and drives the Cracker Jack box over the heavily stoned path. And. It. Fuck. Ing. Sucks. I feel like I'm the last piece of caramel corn in the cardboard container being violently shaken by a dumb monkey. Everything the Demerol and Vicodin did for my head, neck, wrist, and tailbone has been totally erased, and I grimace sharply.

Edward, sensing my agony, pulls over and carries me the last quarter mile to the beach, and I'm in disbelief over how much stamina the kid has. "What do you eat for breakfast?" I ask him just as he reaches a good spot to hang out.

"It depends upon what kind of training I'm doing that day. Why do you ask?"

"No reason." I'm sort of in awe of him. Even the Quileute's aren't that strong, endurance wise.

Edward managed to grab the crutches, school blanket, and my butt donut before walking away from the car, so he sets me down to balance on the crutches while spreading out the blanket on the beach then helps me place myself down on the cushion. I'm still not sure how he got everything down here without losing any of it or dropping me.

"I'm going to secure the top on the car and get you some food. Do you have a preference?"

"Yeah. Get me a cheeseburger and a beer." I say it hopefully.

"Nice try. Is Coke okay?" He playfully shakes his head.

"I suppose." I roll my eyes.

As Edward jogs over to the food, I call Rose on her cell. She's probably three brews in on her buzz by now and not answering. That's just fucked up, so I call Alice.

"Belllllllaaaaaa! Girl, you're here-rah!"

Shit, do I sound that lame when I drink?

_Probably more so._

"Yeah. Edward and I just got here. He went to get me some grub. I'm by the North Rock. Get your ass over here and keep me company."

"No can do. I don't want to get sand in my shoes. You know how I hate sand in my shoes. It's . . . sandy. Oh, hi Jas-perrrrrrrr."

_**Click**_

She hung up on me. That bitch!

After Edward gets back and we eat, we're moving. There's no way I'm staying in the same spot all night, staring at the waves, looking at a lame sunset away from the action. I need social stimulus. I think I'd rather have tooth pulled without novocaine than spend the whole night here with just Cullen.

"Jake insisted on making you a platter." Cullen somehow managed to balance two, heaping, plastic, oval, plates and a big ass beer cup. Judging by the bulge in his Dockers, I sure hope that's my soda and not his dick.

_Yikes! That thing would seriously hurt a bitch._

"I told him it was for you, and he claimed he knew exactly what you'd want."

_What?_

"Lemme see." I take the plate and lift off the top of the bun.

"That fucker! He gave me mayonnaise, lettuce and tomato, and no fucking cheese. I'm going to pound on his ass." I go to grab my crutches and pull myself up when I feel more sharp pains. "Son. Of. A. Bitch!"

"Isabella, sit. I know how the reservation boys pull pranks and such. I anticipated it actually. Take my cheeseburger."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. I rarely eat hamburgers, so to me there're delicious in any form; I'm not fussy."

"Positive?"

"Honestly, it's no big deal, but may I have one of your pickles?"

_I'm sure, right about now, you'd most likely give him anything._

"Take 'em. I usually eat one or two. Jake seriously always loads up these plates."

"Here's your soda, but allow me to open it, just in case."

He pops the tab on the can, but a quarter of it shoots straight up. It's a good thing Edward has long arms. He only gets a little on his jacket and some back-spray on his face from the ocean breeze.

I take my napkin and run it over his skin. He's already getting a five o'clock shadow. And what do you know? It's actually five o'clock.

"Thank you, Isabella."

"Thank you, Edward. Jake can be such a dickhead sometimes."

"Isn't that what parties are about?"

"Well, yeah, but usually getting covered in shit comes way later when people are already trashed. By the way, why are we sitting over here?"

"I though it wise to place you here, far away from those who are roughhousing. I wouldn't want someone to fall, further hurting you."

Ooh! He's frustrating me. I might as well have stayed home. I could get into more trouble there than with him.

"Here." He hands me my soda and reaches into his jacket pocket, grabbing me my anti-inflammatory and pain meds dropping two pills into my palm.

I watch as he takes a pull off his cup of beer. The sip washes down the bite of his burger past the bob of his throat, and it pisses me off . . . I want a beer.

_Admit it. You want more than the beer._

I want to be where my friends are. I want to be where the action is. This sucks.

"Why are _you_ drinking? I must have seriously done a number on you today. It's okay. I know I have that effect on people. I hear it from Charlie all the time. Seriously though, I never see you do anything even remotely morally unacceptable. What happened? I know you've been with me the whole afternoon, but did you break a lace?" I've always wanted to say that to him.

Cullen looks kind of anguished, maybe even almost sad as he stares off at the surf. I snort as I steal a sip of his beer while he isn't looking and get it up my nose as I laugh, thinking about the Tonya Harding Olympic moment.

"See, that's what _you_ get when you ignore the rules or don't pay attention."

"Asshole . . ." I pretend I'm sneering as I look down, but I know he's right because whenever I do stupid shit I'm not supposed to do, it invariably takes a chunk outta my ass or kicks me squarely in it. "I pay a lot of attention. It takes a shit-ton of concentration to do the stunts I do, but _you_ only move over ice. What would you know about the kind of risks I take?"

He still keeps his gaze straight ahead, not looking at me when he speaks.

"To answer your first question, I'm imbibing because I just found out this morning that my whole life has changed. Instead of my summer being consumed by preparation for the Skating Nationals, I have no idea what I'll be doing or if I'll even skate anymore.

"Shit, I know I rib your ass incessantly, but I have seen you skate a few times, and although it burns me to admit this, you are pretty good. What happened?"

He turns, looking at me rather annoyed, "Do you even care, Isabella?"

Good question. _Do I_? Cullen didn't hurt me, didn't turn my ass in to the principal, and didn't get the law involved in the legal aspect of me technically assaulting him. He carried me to the nurse's office, drove me to the hospital, had his dad treat me before the others, sweet talked Charlie into still letting me go to this "end-of-school gathering" (Cullen's words, not mine), and is now even babysitting me to make sure I'm not going to go comatose on his ass or sneak off and get wasted.

"Yeah, I think I do."

_Sigh_. Cullen lets out an exasperated breath, and I know exasperated. My father lets out the same noise, that sound of defeat, right before he has to talk to me after I fuck up.

"My partner of four years, Irina, emailed me this morning, informing me she is moving back to Russia to skate with another partner from her country. This now leaves me not only without anyone to train with but also without a fucking chance of trying to make it to the next Olympics."

Whoa. I've never even heard Cullen get angry before, let alone hear him cuss. This must be a real big deal to him.

"Wow. That really sucks, losing your girlfriend and skating teammate in the same day."

The fucking whore didn't even have the decency to tell him in person, no less.

If a guy did that to me, I'd make sure he'd think twice about ever trying that shit on _any_ girl ever again, that is if he could think at all after I was done with him.

Cullen rolls into laughter. "She wasn't my girlfriend, far from it, actually."

"Sorry, I just assumed . . ."

"It's a well-known misconception people have, thinking that most figure-skating partners hook up."

"Well, at least you have a girlfriend still, right?"

"Are you kidding? I have no time for girlfriends, and even if I did, do you know how hard it is to have a romantic relationship with one woman while you're having a professional one with another, especially when you are spending more time with the professional one than you are with romantic the one? Girlfriends just don't understand."

He looks . . . broken. Edward Cullen never looks broken. He's always so strong and unshakeable. That's probably why Rose and I like picking on him. Much like me, he doesn't do broken.

"Judging by your expression and frustration, I'm guessing you know this firsthand."

"Ya think?"

Huh? Even sarcasm!

_This _is_ a different Cullen._

"Would you like to talk about it, or bitch about it, or maybe throw shit in the water about it . . . or maybe just throw me in the water about it?"

I get a slight smile from him. "Not really."

Damn! I just gave him a free one to get back at me, and he didn't do anything. Jake wouldn't have hesitated to dump my sorry ass in the ocean, injured or not.

"Okay . . ." I concede for now, but I've got to keep him talking. He's going to kill my Vicodin buzz if he shuts up and broods all night; plus I kind of feel bad for him, and this is really something new.

_Twice in one day._

I don't feel bad for anybody about anything.

He removes his shoes and pulls his socks off. His bare feet move playfully in the sand. I sense he hasn't had much time to really be a teenager. Much like I never had time to be a kid after my mom left. I sigh, huff, and display my general antsy-ness, throwing polished rocks into the ocean as my negative memories start to bum me out.

He leans back on his hands, tensing before angling towards me, apparently with something to get off his chest. "Okay, _what_? What do you want to say? In the few hours I've spent with you, you've never been without words, and it's obvious something's disturbing you."

Did he just insinuate that I talk too much? _Huh_! But wait a minute. If I talk too much, why is it now bothering _him_ that _I'm_ quiet? He's so confusing.

_This ought to get him going._

"How hard can it be? I mean, really! Four years is a long time. You can do a lot of shit in four years. I've only been boarding for two. I taught myself everything I know. I also learned how to snowboard, freestyle ski, inline skate, play street hockey, play ice hockey, and downhill ski. All of those sports are somewhat related. The greatest skill any of them take is having balls enough to try them in the first place. Maybe you need to grow a set, find a new partner, and stop being such a whiny bitch. I, for one, never shy away from a challenge."

There. Take that, Cullen!

He blinks then stares quietly at me while I side-eye him.

"Interesting . . . Are you saying you have balls, Isabella?"

I don't even hesitate on this answer.

"Hell yeah! I definitely have balls and am damned proud of them!"

While his eyes are now fixed ahead watching the sunset, he moves his arm closer toward me and grazes his hand over my crotch.

"What the hell!"

"Well, at least now I'm not as perplexed as I was . . ." He turns and gives me that sly smile. "Thankfully, that cleared up one question I had about you."

_Hrumpf_! "You're just damned lucky I'm sedated right now; otherwise, your ass would be sprawled out with the waves lapping at it and me laughing because of it. The last guy that pulled that move on me— uninvited—ended up with a broken arm, a crooked cock, and a jaw wired shut, forcing him to drink through a straw for two months."

He looks at me completely unshaken by my disclosure. "Somehow, Isabella, I don't think you have it in you to harm me, like that." _Arghh!_ He's fucking impossible! I want to punch his pretty face. And I pull back my arm to do so, but he doesn't even flinch. This'll be so freaking easy, but then I catch the bonfire, flickering its flames in the reflection of his glassy eyes, the ones that were full of sadness a minute ago but now hold an inkling of happiness and maybe something else. And just like that, I can't hit him. It's making me livid. Where's my moxie, my piss and vinegar, my vagina of iron? I want that smirk smacked right off his face . . . but then he'd be less pretty.

I did not just think that. Damn you, Vicodin, for making me soft!

"Are you saying you could learn how to pair figure skate, Isabella?"

I should really be thinking about my next words, but for some reason my brain's screening process isn't working and decides to accept Edward Cullen's call.

"Fuck yeah! How hard could it be?"

Immediately I want to take back my words, knowing something bad is going to come from them.

He begins laughing hysterically, so much so that his beer is sloshing over the side of his twenty-four ounce blue Solo cup.

I guess it's somewhat humorous, but now he's making me feel like I should be riding the short yellow bus again. I guess I'm a little slow but also a little pissed that he wasted about a half cup of beer. After all, it could have been in me by now.

Cullen looks up after he's regained his normalcy and wipes the laugh tears from his eyes, which now reflect the seriousness of his expression, followed by his head slightly shaking side to side.

"It's unbelievably hard."

I hear the pain in his voice. The pain I experience every time I ever try something new and fuck up, bruising my ego, becoming humbled, getting hurt.

Time to lighten his mood again. Plus, I just have to get him back, so I nonchalantly move my hand over his crotch and give it a slight squeeze.

With a twisted, upturned grin, I remark, "I wouldn't call it unbelievably hard, but I suppose it would be hard enough for me to make an honest attempt at it. Half the fun of succeeding at something you've never tried before is enjoying the ride while getting there."

Hesitantly he asks, "What's the other half?"

"Knowing that you've given your best, putting all the bullshit, pain, and frustration of failure behind because you've succeeded at what you set out to do. And for that, you can hold your head high, for there shouldn't ever be any shame in effort."

He just blinks blankly then shakes his head with a smile.

"I think I've underestimated you, _Boarder Girl_."

"How so?"

He lets out a deep sigh. "What would you do if I dared you to learn how to figure skate?"

I remember the words he exchanged with Carlisle and the despair I heard in his voice after he was seemingly giving up hope.

_But he's here with _you _now. He _didn't_ give up._

He's hardly left my side. My so-called friends don't give two shits about me. Otherwise, they would have hauled their drunken asses over here.

I think about Cullen's challenge. Rose is nowhere in sight. She's probably playing some sort of alcohol pong, throwing down shots with McCarty, so I can't blame her for my concession.

"I'd say, 'Bring it' and would do it on one condition."

"Dare I ask?"

"I'll do it if you learn how to board, _Skater Boy_."

* * *

A/N:

What do you think Edward will say?

What has he been thinking all afternoon?

Do you want his POV?

Please leave me your thoughts.

* * *

Thank you, Chaysara, for fixing me when I was incapable of fixing myself. The flu will do that to you. I own my mistakes.

* * *

If you like this story, you may also like "Boys Will Be". I'm getting ready to update.

* * *

Please check out the works of these wonderful ladies I preread for:

Bornonhalloween : "Remastering Marcus"

Gabby1017: "Under My Nose" (I'm getting goosebumps thinking about her update.)

Jaymili : "Lucky Ticket" "Too Gay For You" (Please show her some love; she lost all of her electronics in a flood.)

Ohgeefantasy "Careless Hearts" and "Pudding Cup"

* * *

Thank you all for reading.

PAD


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you for being patient. My husband keeps bees. I hived them but was stung twenty-two times. I was not a happy camper, but I'm good now.

* * *

Stephenie Meyer owns _Twilight_; but I own my plot and peeps.

* * *

Skater Boy and Boarder Girl 7

* * *

**EPOV**

As I consider Isabella's offer, I want to reconsider mine. A numbing feeling courses through me as I gaze outward at the darkening ocean horizon in disbelief over what I just proposed.

_You must be having an out-of-body experience. _

I may be right. I feel a bit woozy, staring at the sunset after having just finished drinking a cup of warm beer and devouring a juicy red burger while sprawling comfortably on a borrowed school blanket, with my bare feet in the sand of the La Push Reservation beach, sitting next to the person I wouldn't dream of keeping company with: the one and only Isabella Swan.

I shudder. The evening mist is condensing as the salty air is cooling. I should be feeling chilled, but instead, the reality of my poorly planned word regurgitation sends a warm wave of embarrassment flushing over my face because of my faux pas.

_I bet you're pondering kicking yourself in the ass for not inserting one of your size eleven loafers into your mouth, stopping the words you can no longer take back._

What have I just done? What the hell is wrong with me?

I splay my fingers over my face and slightly shake my head as I sigh. I must be so distressed over the unconscionable act Irina pulled on me that I'm desperate. I seriously have to be having a mental breakdown for considering Isabella as a skating partner. I don't think I could ever have enough patience for that. I am sure if I spent some time searching, I could find a reasonable replacement worthy of my time and effort.

_But you know you would never be satisfied with anyone else. You need someone who can handle the pressure and is unquestionably fearless. You were damned impressed Isabella managed that display not only without a training harness but also without killing herself._

I should blame it on the alcohol. I am such a lightweight; a half a beer and I have completely erased all my faculties. I should not have asked Isabella something so serious while under the influence—or at all for that matter—but I can't just blame it on the alcohol, can I?

_I don't think so. You're captivated by her._

I don't see how. This means I have to be going crazy. Maybe Isabella's right. Maybe she does have that effect on people like a voodoo priestess, high sorceress, or wicked witch. That's it. Maybe she's cast a spell just to toy with me while I am at my lowest; I wouldn't put it past her to do it, but then again, how could she? She's been in pain all afternoon and is sedated now. That would mean that she must be extremely talented in summoning help from the spirit world, or she's getting help from a very dark prince from a very bad place. That's it; she must have made a pact to do me in.

_That's your _best_ explanation? _

Well, what else can it be? She's Isabella for God sake! She's an archenemy to everyone, a demon seed, spawn of Satan; she's the devil's darling, his minion. She makes Disney villainesses appear docile.

_Listen to yourself; get a grip! You respect her . . . maybe even _like_ her._

Hah! Yeah, right. This is Isabella we're referring to, the tortuous tormenter who's put tacks on my chair, nails under my tires, gum in my hair, ink on my pants, and obscenities on my locker, and that's just a few of the countless things she's done, making my life more miserable.

_Did you ever ask yourself why she appears to target you more than the others?_

I'm no different. She's an equal opportunity bully.

Bully. _It's interesting you should choose that word. Its archaic definition means sweetheart._

Yeah, well, I'm using it to illustrate her cruelty. She's anything but sweet.

_I think she may be sweet on you. Think about it._

I have. She does Rose's bidding; anyone's for that matter.

_She has a brain. She's quite clever and clearly capable of making her own decisions. There are plenty of students she has avoided; yet somehow she keeps picking on you._

Just drop it. I don't need to be thinking about her thinking about me in that way. It's . . . _disturbing_. I'm a little drunk and not of sound mind. This is not up for discussion.

_Suit yourself._

Maybe my surreal day is getting the better of me. I cannot believe I am even contemplating working with Isabella. She'll probably get me killed.

_Stop being such a queen! Maybe Isabella's right about you and your effeminate tendencies. Man-up and just admit that you admire her. Her tenaciousness and commitment have reeled you in. You're a worm on her hook, anxious and eager to see what's on the end of her rod._

I am not that eager; she'll probably beat me with it.

_You may just like that sort of thing. Keep an open mind; give it a try. _

Bite your tongue!

_Then why did you pose the dare to her?_

She caught me at a vulnerable moment. I respected what she said. I could almost believe in her sincerity, but I am not stupid. This is Isabella. She is a self-serving spiteful brat who could make my life a living hell.

_Hasn't she already? And yet here you sit at her side, begging for more._

I'm not begging; I asked.

_Semantics. You're intrigued and fascinated by her. She's raw, crude, and edgy, holding nothing back. You marvel over that and for once, wish you had the balls to shove aside your manners and speak your peace to anyone who's wronged you._

I did with her.

_Bravo! That's right! I actually need to give you credit for putting Isabella in her place when you first examined her. _"Trust me, Isabella, if I were to 'feel you up' as you so eloquently put it, I believe you wouldn't be complaining." _That was priceless!_ _Where did that come from? _

Oh, God, you had to bring that up. I don't believe I said that to her. I've never been so rude in my life. She coerced such primal aggression from me; I wanted to take her over my knee.

_And have your way?_

No! I wanted to put soap in her mouth.

_Oh, I think you wanted to squirt something in other than soap._

Knock it off!

_Oh, come now; fess up. She might be needles under your nails, but you enjoy her form of torture. I honestly thought you would have crashed the Volvo when she flashed you in the car. Admit it. She honestly has a nice set of tits, and think about it. Put her injuries aside for a minute. You could have had her. It was an open invitation, not even in an envelope. And what about in the examining room when her bra landed on your shoulder from her wily ways? Or about the sneak peak you took when you had your hands on her hips, catching a glimpse of her Hello Kitty underwear. I'm sure you could make her purr. _

Yes. That underwear most certainly caught me by surprise.

_You know she produced an unexpected _rally_ your _governing member _hasn't seen in its Parliament since before Jane wisened up and dumped your ass. I certainly don't think you'd be opposed to Isabella's form of filibustering, seeing as though something else was trying to bust—out of your pants, that is. _

Ha ha, very funny, but you're right. I don't think my _governing member_ has ever seen that kind of action. Even a few moments ago when Isabella returned the favor, giving me a squeeze, I've found it's been quite challenging for me, not giving in and responding to her form of play.

Jane was extremely proper, so the few times we engaged in anything did not involve any lighting. Thankfully, after studying how-to books and practicing techniques I gathered from watching You Tube videos, I found my way around her anatomy even though I hadn't ever even caught an unclothed glimpse of her. And as far as Irina goes, we never had that kind of relationship. She probably has more testosterone than I do. Isabella, while out on the open road and in the hospital under bright lights, on the other hand, had me so worked up, it took ten minutes to clean up not only myself but also the physician's bathroom I jizzed all over. Just thinking about Isabella's teasing had me wrestling a full-pressured fire hose instead of an empty mustard bottle, as was the case whenever I'd entertain visions of Jane. I think Dad thought it humorous that Bella had provoked me, as he recognized the frustration in my eyes as well as the bulge in my pants before I excused myself.

_Then what are you waiting for? Tap her!_

I was raised a gentleman. I do not want to think of Isabella in that way.

_Why? She's made it clear she likes to pick on your ass, especially if it's in jeans. She thinks you're intelligent, good smelling, tidy, and well-mannered. She even rid your face of her soda and rubbed her fingers over the base of your neck when you carried her. I think she harbors feelings for you_.

I can't afford to let that happen. If I agree to this arrangement, I have to keep it businesslike. When my dad hugged me after my meltdown in his office after I shared Irina's news, he said that maybe fate's trying to tell me it's time for a change. If that's the case, it would be very unethical and complicated for me to entertain sexual thoughts while working with Isabella. I know she is a girl with nice attributes, but we are talking about Isabella here. She certainly isn't romance material; she needs refinement.

_Ah, an introduction to Edward Cullen's School of Charm._

Not for the reasons you are suggesting. If I take her on as a partner, I will have to teach her how to wow and woo an audience.

_I think she currently has a following; besides, she's already a performer, clearly having performed her magic on you._

I will concede that she interests me; otherwise, her partnership wouldn't even be up for consideration, but it's more like beguilement. I have to be careful and maintain my wits about me. She's clearly dangerous and has a long way to go. Additionally, I envision an uphill battle, as I have to work with Isabella on softening her appearance, which I'm sure she won't agree to willingly. Isabella may not be as masculine as Irina was, but at least Irina was polished. Although Isabella's physical features are more ladylike, the difficulty is in the fact that she is still a tomboy.

_Tomboy or not, I think when you put your hand on her crotch, you established that she was all girl under those jeans._

I hang my head in shame. Please do not remind me. In fact, find a gun, skip the twenty paces, and just pull the trigger; get it over with because I will probably burn in hell for that indiscretion. I just cannot offer up any rational thought as to why I did that.

_I can. She's a ringworm, a fungus burrowing under your skin you can't get rid of nor do you want to. Remember, you liked her once. Back then, she was different. She wasn't the same obnoxious person she is now, but even when considering that, she _still _has some parts you used to like about her that still_ _exist._

You're right. I'm in total agreement even through my exasperation. I did like her and often wondered what happened to the shy, little, beautiful, brown-haired girl whom I knew since kindergarten and used to have in my grammar school classes. As I close my eyes, I can visualize the memory of her as if it were yesterday.

I sat clear across the room from Isabella—five rows over and three seats back. I remember how much I loved watching her. Her face could display ten thousand different emotions, and I could always tell her mood by the myriad of expressions her looks would convey.

When she was deeply focused, her brow would wrinkle in concentration while she'd take her bottom lip between her teeth. This was especially evident when she practiced her penmanship and maintained a death grip on her chosen writing utensil. I noted that Fs and Ps were particularly troublesome for her as she'd crinkle up her nose as well, pulling herself deeper into the task, always striving for perfection. She could immerse herself so fully into any hurdle that challenged her. I truly enjoyed how committed she could become.

She had other giveaways, too, like when she wasn't pleased. Typically, if something didn't go her way, she'd fold her arms tightly across her chest and sneer at the source of her disdain, continuing her grudge long after what would be suitably appropriate. If she were anxious or nervous, as when taking a math test, she'd bite the end of her pencil sometimes snapping it in half, and if she were extremely frustrated, she'd squeeze the little rubber alien on her key chain, making its eyes bulge from their sockets unmercifully. Upon doing that, it would almost instantly calm her, spreading a smile over her face as sweet as a swirl of marshmallow crème over bread. I always welcomed seeing that expression, the one she displayed, showing the dimple on her right cheek when she was happy.

If Isabella were bored, she'd roll her eyes and tap her foot four beats per measure; eight if she were really getting impatient; sixteen if she were fuming over something, like the time I watched James steal her Nintendo DS ™ that she had just received as a present from her grandmother for her birthday.

When Isabella first discovered it missing, she appeared completely distressed and almost in tears, but she quickly pushed that emotion aside exchanging it for one of contempt. It was remarkable, seeing her transform her attitude so quickly, channeling her frustration into determination. (It was something that came so easily to her, which took me years of practice to master that I have to do on the rink all the time.) I knew I had to intervene, because even in the second grade James was a budding criminal who was well-practiced, having gotten away with stealing other's lunch money numerous times. I knew if I waited, James would probably seize the opportunity to sell the game system to one of the older kids on the playground at recess. I had to act fast, so I waited until everyone left for lunch. While in line to the cafeteria, I pretended I forgot my food but deliberately left it behind in my desk. When I received permission from our teacher, Mrs. Goff, to retrieve it, I went back in the classroom and grabbed my lunch bag, but not before I seized the toy from James's desk, placing it into Isabella's backpack on the way back to the lunch room.

When Isabella realized its return, I saw that dimple along with pure jubilation and absolute relief wash over her face as she panned the room to see who could have stolen then returned the device. I eyed her in my periphery, not letting onto my role in her game's return but also noted James's disgusted reaction upon discovering the double cross. Isabella noticed it, too, and little while later when we had moved on to Social Studies, I looked up and caught Isabella grinning at me. I turned my eyes to the front of the class but not before I began turning pink, certain she had figured me out. Let's just say I had a few reasons to gloat after that, especially when I sat at my desk the next day and found a hot pink post-it with "thank you" scrawled on it alongside a heart-shaped lollipop she had given me.

I still have both.

Another thing I remember about Isabella was her impeccable attire. That was something she and I had in common: our mothers were meticulous about our appearances. Isabella had perfectly pressed dresses and polished patent-leather shoes, and her shiny brunette braids or shimmering bouncy curls only complemented her kempt appearance. She could have been a model for a children's magazine; she was that adorable.

Isabella used to be kind, sweet, and joyful and even gave me her orange once and apples twice when my mom forgot to pack mine. She also gave me cookies and even a slice of cake here and there when her mom made extra—but that all changed one fateful April day in the second grade when her mother, Renée, left and never returned.

Isabella's decline was gradual and went unnoticed by nearly everyone—but not me. The first thing I noticed, what I always noticed, were her eyes. They used to sparkle and were huge and dark like those of a baby calf. At first, after Mrs. Swan disappeared, Isabella's eyes became troubled, tired, and sad. She clearly lacked sleep as the circles under her lids began getting darker, like her mood. Upon her further decline, in our intermediate grades, her gaze appeared defeated, confused, and unfocused. She would be caught daydreaming, probably of happier times, and was frequently ridiculed by other students for not correctly answering the teacher's questions. After a while, she stopped participating altogether and just immersed herself in her sketchbook. Somehow, she still managed to get good marks but barely offered up any class contributions. She also rarely made eye contact and barely smiled. Finally, the last change was the worst. In junior high, her eyes became angry, bitter, and vengeful. When she hit the seventh grade, it was as if she became mean overnight. She hasn't changed much since then.

I don't think she has ever let go, ever forgiven her mother for abandoning her. When Renée first left, I tried to offer Isabella my friendship, but she just shut everyone out. I even had my mom make casseroles for Isabella and her father, which I delivered on my bike and would leave on their doorstep. I'd cut out funny comics from the newspaper or cute pictures of animals from my nature magazines that I thought she'd like and leave them anonymously on her desk. Each week, I'd also leave her a few pencils or pens with special designs on them when I saw that, she had regular gold-colored number-twos, or more often than not, none at all. I even left her my mom's brownies, placing them inside her desk along with Hershey's® hugs and kisses. I would try anything to get her to smile; I really missed hers.

A seagull's caw breaks my reminiscence. I note that some kids have moved on to encircle the bonfire while others have begun playing volleyball as activities are beginning to wind down for the night. Isabella has been a good sport since we got here even though her friends have seemingly stayed away. It reminds me now of how things used to be between us. Feeling sentimental, I turn to her and just have to say the words. "You know, I've always thought you had a very beautiful smile. You should show it more often."

"What?" I completely catch her off guard with my random remark, and she begins fidgeting, wiping sand off her hands onto her pants as a breeze gently lifts up her hair from under her under hat and away from her neck brace. "It's slightly crooked, you know; I ripped my braces off after only having them on for about a year. My teeth could be straighter."

"Isabella, your smile is lovely, especially when you show off your dimple." She gives me a bewildering look, confused that I would even notice she had the indentation. I take my left hand, suspending it in front of her right cheek silently asking permission before I say the words. "May I?" She nods as I gently rub my thumb over where her dimple should be. "It's a compliment; you don't need to make excuses. There isn't anything needing mitigating to accept it. Just say thank you."

"Thank you." Her expression is soft and her eyes are glassy, but her face changes favorably. And there it is, the beautiful smile along with that adorable dimple I can't resist touching.

"You're welcome." I reluctantly pull my hand away but am happy I've achieved my objective as Isabella's grin is now ear-to-ear, showing off the little divot I've missed seeing all these years.

I guess I've made up my mind.

"So _Boarder Girl_, if we're going to do this, and you don't want to kill me, I guess you'll have to tell me everything I need to know about skateboarding."

* * *

A/N:

It looks like these two just shared a tender moment. What's do you think is going on in Bella's mind?

Tell me what you think about Edward's words.

Please leave me some of yours.

* * *

Thank you, Chayasara, for beta'ing last minute. I may have changed a few things, so my mistakes are my own.

* * *

Please check out the works of these wonderful women:

Bornonhalloween - "Remastering Marcus" The link is on her Fanfiction profile.

Gabby1017 - "Under My Nose" The wedding is almost here.

Ohgeefantasy - "Careless Hearts" We need to get B&E together again.

* * *

Bella's POV will return next chapter.

Thank you for reading.

PAD


	8. Chapter 8

Stephenie Meyer owns _Twilight_, but I own my plot and peeps.

* * *

Skater Boy and Boarder Girl 8

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**BPOV**

* * *

Cullen touched my face.

Edward rubbed his thumb over my cheek, forcing my grin, spurring my dimple . . . making me hot.

I inch my own fingers up to where his just were and run them over the forgotten rabbit hole, thinking about the times my mom used to kid me and call it that whenever I'd smile while she read me _Alice in Wonderland_ before she went off down into her own burrow.

_He likes your smile, B, just like she did._

It's been so long since I've seen the dent I thought my face outgrew it, like when cute grade-school looks are replaced by awkward tween ones—all freckled and toothless then toothy and MAD magazine worthy. Edward's interest makes me self-conscious.

_Play it cool._

"What makes you so sure I wouldn't mind seeing you done-in?"

I can tell his smile is playful, and I barely make out his teeth, glistening from the light of the roaring beach fire I have at my back. I'd been vegging-out from the painkillers with my own quiet thoughts while Edward was most likely zoning out from the beer, embracing his. I stare at the glowing embers of the sun's reflection in the ocean. I'm still a little blind but heard his remarks perfectly.

"I know how creative you are." He gently bumps my shoulder with his, careful not to jostle me into spasming. "I think you would have found an interesting way to get rid of me by now if you truly wanted me out of _your _picture."

"You're just so sure of yourself, aren't you?" I say it teasingly, wanting to bump him back but think better of it and just barely nudge him instead.

"Typically, when adolescents spur each other on, it's not superficial; there are usually deeper feelings at play." I sense a shift in the conversation as I hear his now serious tone.

_Too heavy, too heavy! Quick, change the subject! We don't want to go there._

"So, seriously, you'll do this—um, learn to board?" I commend myself on the nice save and redirection. He completely caught me off guard with his feelings and shit, and it's making me uneasy. I begin poking at a burn hole on the cuff of my hoodie, hopeful he'll just take the hint.

I still can't believe Edward's conceding to this neutral, reciprocal . . . _partnership_. I hope we can keep it that way.

"Why not? You're agreeing to learn how to figure skate."

I don't need reminding.

"Yeah, I guess I am; however, I think I'll need a little more recovery time before we jump into this." Actually, a lot of recovery time would be great, seeing as I'm in no hurry to find out what I'm getting myself involved with.

"Absolutely, Isabella, I don't want it to appear as if I'm rushing you. Forgive me if I made it sound that way. Please take all the time you require because I'm sure we will be doing much more than jumping by the time we're through with this." That's what I'm afraid of. I feel the waves of Edward's heat he's giving off, warming me. They're soothing.

I can now fit my thumb inside the fabric where a lit cigarette began the task.

"No, we're good. I could probably use about a week, maybe two—if I remember correctly from the last time when I hurt myself. But there is something that's been bothering me that I need to have cleared up."

_The burning question._

"Go ahead."

My thumb has now made it all the way through, up to the second knuckle.

"You could probably have your pick of many up-and-coming, cute and frilly little girls who are much more skilled and a lot less stubborn than I am; why choose a pain in the ass like me?"

I still have trust issues, so I'm careful to watch Edward's response, making sure he's not lying to me when he answers. That's all I need—him setting me up for more bodily harm. I bet _he_ is crafty, too. He'd probably stage it so it was all my own doing—a complete accident—one Charlie would have difficulty proving Edward's involvement with.

"Lacking a better expression, Isabella, I think you said it best: _you have balls _. . ."

_Yeah, I guess you do, B._

I relive how I started the 50-50 grind I pulled off while I was trying to get away from him. I remember the rush I felt when both trucks were riding over the handrail, surprising the shit out of me that the axles never hung up. Right before I had to ditch my board I turned it into a 5-0 grind, leaning back on the rear truck with the nose elevated. I scrambled, catching major air as I spun over the crowd before crashing my goofy-footed ass into the ground.

Edward breaks my thoughts of this afternoon when he continues speaking. "You're fierce. That translates into much of what's required to be an Olympic athlete. One has to be practically fearless. I think anyone who competes has to understand risk, but that person also has to remain calm and composed without self-doubting whenever facing dangerous situations. I watched everything you did today, leading up to your mishap. Initially, you had conviction and complete faith in your ability to pull off your stunt and land without incident, but when you saw that your action was going to harm others, forcing you to make the split decision to abort, I expected you to panic. Yet, surprisingly, you still maintained yourself, even after the realization became clear that you were sacrificing your own safety for others—that was quite noble of you. I'm not sure you recognized it at the time, but when you modified your plan and had to abandon your board—choosing not only to jump up, but also to spin over the dispersing students—you completed four and a half revolutions, executing a spectacular quadruple maneuver. . ."

Holy shit, a 1440!

"Even though your entry was catastrophic, I'm thoroughly convinced that if you weren't wearing your backpack, or it hadn't listed, shifting you off kilter, you would have landed perfectly. You have a superb natural ability, and I honestly think with the right direction you'd have limitless potential and could become an incredible skating partner."

Damn.

_Maybe if you keep working at that hole, you can just let it swallow you up, completely. Say hi to Alice and Renée for me while you are down there._

His face displays complete sincerity, no facial flinching, eye shifting, or nervous twitching. The fucker just gave me goose bumps.

"Um, wow. Do you seriously believe that?"

"I believe that you can do anything you set your mind to, and I'm saying this because I have absolute faith in you."

I don't need to see his eyes, which are dilated, cat-like, and nearly black in this twilight. His lyrical voice tells me everything, giving honest, encouraging words that soothe then wrap around me, radiating warmth like an electric blanket.

I've waited my whole life for Charlie to say those words, and I'm glad I didn't hold my breath. It was something that my mom used to tell me all the time while she brushed my hair before I went to bed, and I've missed hearing it. I've missed hearing her. _Sniff _I just miss her, period.

"Thanks." I say it humbly, unable to give him more without the fear of tears following. I don't want to appear soft.

I have trouble accepting compliments, so I leave it at that while I move on, sniffling at first, before I begin picking at a loose thread on the hem of my tee shirt, pulling then unraveling it completely, leaving the frayed edge visible.

Why do I feel like _this_—the unraveling and fraying—is an apt analogy for the road my life is now taking?

_Just try and stay away from the rabbit holes, B. Cullen's a good influence. Admit it. He's here with you. With all of the despicable things you've done to him, he wants to take care of you even after you pushed him away. Give him a chance._

Sensing the effects of his words, he spares my emotions and changes the topic.

"I think people are calming down for the night, meaning you're less likely to get struck by a stray volleyball or trampled by someone who's drunk and staggering, if you'd like to move next to the fire. I need to get the tent and air mattress set up for the night."

_Fuck!_

I forgot all about this night's arrangement. I'm not normally shy about crashing with guys, but I am about sleeping with Edward. I wonder if I can sneak into Rose and Alice's tent after Edward falls asleep. But knowing them, they probably already have their hook-ups planned. I'd be a third nipple—not that it would bother the guys any—and would probably get kicked in the head by McCarty or thrown-up on by Jasper.

Even considering the unpleasant possibilities, I still might be better off with them. Looking toward the fire, I'm certain I see Alice curled around Jasper, practically hanging off him, while it appears as though Rose is battling it out, playing tonsil wars with McCarty. I feel myself breaking into a cold sweat, thinking about spending the night alone, lying next to just Cullen. The fucker better not try anything.

_Listen to yourself, B. You'd probably be more upset if he didn't._

I feel him over my shoulder. His rapid panting and steamy breathing reminds me of what I'll most likely be encountering while sleeping next to him, and I shiver, not sure if it's because I'm getting colder or because he's making me warmer.

"Isabella, are you okay? You look chilled. Here, take my jacket." Edward peels off his leather and drapes it around my back. His young stud-muffin-y scent immediately starts assaulting me. He must be an Axe® man, and it's so unfair because that shit climbs up my nose and ambushes my common sense every time. Why does he have to smell so nice? "Come on. Let me help you get up and move next to the fire."

"I think that's a good idea." He's making me feel light-headed. I feel blood coursing to other parts, and I need to keep my wits about me at least as much as I can, being on painkillers. "Besides, I think I'll have to manage a trip to the Porta-Potty as well."

"Let's get you up, then."

He stands and moves my crutches, angling them so they are easy to grab, while placing his left arm around my waist, lifting me to stand. I recognize the move from when he held me as I vomited earlier. He seems so unfazed when touching me like this.

_I bet you wish you could say the same._

It's gotta be a skating partner thing; he must be used to it.

_Poor B. That means you'll have to get used to it, too._

All of this sitting has made me stiff, and without ice, the pain's coming back. He reaches down and pulls up the crutches, placing one under each of my arms. I position myself, waiting for my blood to return to its rightful places before taking a step, testing if I can do this.

I spread the crutches out slightly, but they sink in the sand more than I'd like. It's challenging, using them on this quicksand-y surface, but I'm a tough wench; it's nothing I can't handle. Edward stays right beside me ready to help at any second, almost like fly paper, and if I weren't so bad off today, I'd probably be ridiculing, comparing him to that pesky insect, seeing as he's practically glued himself to my side.

_Quit your bitchin'. He treats you well. Do you like being degraded and dumped onto the beach? Or tossed around like a beanbag? Or have shit rubbed into your hair? You know that's what the other boys would do. Cullen respects you. He'd never mistreat you like that. You don't need to do anything to beg for his attention. You've already got it._

"This isn't so bad. I can handle the crutches better than I expected." I'm lying through my teeth, trying with every step not to groan as I put weight on my legs as the tenth-of-a-mile task of getting to the bathroom seems insurmountable. I feel pain everywhere, and it fucking hurts. I have to rely on my right wrist because my left one's messed up. The whiplash is setting in as well giving me jolts every time I tense or turn my head. My tailbone is throbbing, too, making me wonder how I'm ever going to fall asleep. I'm also stiff as a board, having sat still for far too long, and now I have to crap which is going to make shit a hundred times worse. Pun definitely intended.

"I'm glad to see that you are putting on a brave front, Isabella, but you are terrible at lying and even worse at acting."

"Fuck you!" Cullen's got some nerve calling me on my shit, but he's right. "How can you tell?"

"Aside from the facial wincing, molar clenching, and barely audible grunting whenever you take a step, you saying something optimistic or positive just isn't you and doesn't fit your personality. It's as if you are trying too hard to please someone, telling them what they want to hear instead of you just speaking your mind and being honest."

He's being too kind. He knows that I know that he is that someone.

"Well, what the hell do you want me to say, that this is just fucking ducky and I'd welcome even more pain?" I'm trudging through the sand, feeling my anger from Cullen pissing me off, but I'm moving faster. He's making me mad, and now I can't get away from him fast enough.

"No. I would expect you to ask for my help if you needed it. I am not opposed to carrying you if need be. You didn't seem to mind it earlier. I understand you are sore, stiff, and still experiencing severe pain, but I also acknowledge that you do not want to appear weak in front of your peers. Hence, your stubborn, belligerent self will face this alone. However, if I can contribute in any way toward boosting your adrenaline, thus thwarting your pain by antagonizing you further, I'm here for you."

Bastard! He gloats, actually smirks and fucking gloats, one-upping me. I move to hit him with my crutch but forget I need to balance and almost send myself to the ground.

_Boy does he have your number!_

"Easy, Isabella, getting back at me is not worth you injuring yourself further.

"How do you do that?" I'm moving more quickly with less pain now that I'm pumped. He actually has me more curious than pissed.

"Do what?"

"Figure me out, know what I think, and guess what I need."

"I have a tremendous coach whom I have garnered a great deal from who has put my arrogance back in its place more times than I care to comment on. In competing against some of the best national and international junior skating athletes in the world, I was strongly encouraged to study behavioral and sport psychology. In doing so, I've become quite adept in watching people's strengths and weaknesses—both on and off the rink. It's enabled me to size them up and assisted me in becoming a better competitor. I'm certain you do the same, Isabella, without even realizing it, like when you tease, trying to bait me into eliciting your desired outcome. You most likely do the same with others whenever you participate in a meet or competition as well by dropping subtle suggestions or remarks, just to see their reactions or to throw them off their game. You probably check out your opponents and watch their warm-ups, too, noticing if they have any injuries or are experiencing difficulties in concentrating."

We've almost made it to the spotlighted area of the crapper, and surprisingly, Edward's form of distraction and my own interest in our conversation has made the trek bearable.

"I can see your point. I do keep tabs on others' injuries and drama and try to stay clear of boarders' beefs and personal vendettas. It's kind of dangerous, being in the middle of rival gang shit or people's personal crap while on a track or inside a pipe. When trophies, titles, and prize monies are involved, it's even worse. Some boarders don't take too kindly to having their pride stomped on or their asses handed to them in front of their homies. Contrary to the attitude I project in school, I give and get an equal amount of respect from my fellow competitors. I've had my share of cornhole-kickings and have been knocked down a few pegs, literally and figuratively."

"So why then would you continue to bully others at school if you can flip a switch and control it?"

"Flipping a switch when one is competing is something I have to do. When I'm in school, I flip my shit if people piss me off. I don't usually have an outlet to get rid of my anger, so I suppose bullying relieves some of that. I can also get away with it, so that even makes it better, especially when people deserve it."

I'm moving more quickly than I should in the home stretch, and my body is telling me so. I know what's coming out of his mouth next, so I'm grateful I've finally made it to the john.

"Isabella, I don't think I've personally committed any wrongdoing to . . ."

_Victory!_

Thank God! I've got my hand on the door just as Leah Clearwater is stepping out. Edward's holding it, so the spring doesn't whack me in the ass, knocking me forward, and sending me into an abyss of raw sewage and blue goo even though I know I undoubtedly deserve it for ducking out on giving him an answer to his almost inquiry.

"Hey, Leah, how's it going?" I balance as I try stepping up onto the plastic platform from the sand. _Pain. _Edward's still holding the door while I get inside.

"Pretty good, but shouldn't I be asking you that? I heard what happened. You're very lucky.

"Yeah, I know."

"Hey, Jake, Paul, and Jared are just about ready to start setting off fireworks. Try not to be too long; you'll miss seeing them."

"Will do." Edward is just about ready to let go of the door when he steps out from behind it, appearing hesitant and somewhat apologetic, like a little boy who just got caught smashing his mom's favorite vase.

"Oh! Hi, Edward. I didn't see you standing there." Edward's still grasping the door as I watch this weird exchange between them. Leah's changed her posture, looking up at him through her lashes, and standing much straighter while sticking out her boobs.

_Seriously?_

"Hello, Leah. I'm sorry about being unable to spend time with you tonight. I've been caring for Isabella since school let out." His voice is hesitant, unsure of how she'll respond.

Huh? Edward and Leah? How long have they been friends? She must be the person who invited him, and here I thought he was making that shit up. Shouldn't I have known about this? Shouldn't Jake have told me? This is bullshit! He keeps me informed about all of the tribal gossip. Where the hell have I been?

"That's okay. Maybe we can camp out sometime this summer. It would be nice if you could come back for one of our parties again, maybe for the Fourth of July." Leah folds her arms under her rack, boosting her tits up even more.

_She did not just go there._

Did I just hear right? Edward at the Rez, again?

"Yes, that would be nice. I'll certainly keep it in mind. My parents may be going away. I'm not yet sure if I'm going with them or not." Good to know. Maybe I can plan something with Cullen to keep her away.

_Jealous much? Listen to yourself. What's happening to you?_

"Well, if you decide to come, you're definitely invited."

All of a sudden, I feel an intense wave of protectiveness toward Edward. Hand's off! He's mine, bitch! The only coming he's going to be doing is with me.

"Edward, I'll be better by then. We should really utilize all the free time we have while school is out so we can practice. I have a feeling I'll need a lot of it."

_Where the hell did that come from? How far did you have to reach up your ass to pull that out? You practically invited yourself to shadow him._

Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Me and my fucking mouth.

"Good thinking, Isabella. We will definitely need to spend more time together. I have to teach you warm-ups, proper technique, and focusing strategies. I'll have to show you training videos and help you work on building up your core. I will have to introduce you to our coach, too. There's so much to do."

I made it through the pipe, perfect run.

_Wait a minute._

"Thank you for that invitation and for the one you extended to me for this evening. Again, I'm sorry that I was unable to spend time with you, Leah."

"That's okay, Edward. I think it was super sweet of you to tag along with Bella the whole day, helping her. You're like her own personal knight, coming to her rescue. Charlie called my dad to tell him you'd be staying with her tonight. I'm not going to lie; I was disappointed to hear we wouldn't be hanging out, but we can do it again." Leah moves closer to Edward, putting her hand out to touch his chest, getting ready to touch my pecs. I mean his.

Not on my watch! I've had enough and need to break this up.

"Ahem!" I clear my voice as loudly as I can and leave no question about wanting attention.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Isabella. I didn't realize I was still holding the door."

_**Slam**_

What the fuck! Edward just closed the door in my face.

Balancing quietly, I deliberately hold off getting ready to pee so I can still hear their conversation. I'm still standing and lean toward the one-way peephole, watching Leah sway back and forth, now rocking her boobs from side-to-side while Edward shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, looking down at his feet, kicking the sand. Good, at least his hands aren't in his pants adjusting his dick. Thankfully, that earlier move in the hospital was reserved just for me.

I gotta stop this before it starts going somewhere again.

I yell through the fiberglass. "Edward, I need some help here!" I could probably do it myself with a lot of effort or just ask Leah do it, but I need to disrupt this moment. I'll be damned if I'm going to let her get her wolf nails into my boyf . . . I mean skating partner.

I open the door with my bad hand, feeling the discomfort in my wrist while leaning on the wooden support under my right arm. "I can't undo my pants. I need to stand, balancing on one crutch, holding myself up, while trying to undo my pants without my wrist brace getting in the way."

Edward's looking at me, clearly disturbed by his distraction and lack of attention, immediately stepping forward to assist me. "I'm so sorry, Isabella. That was quite rude of me. I should have asked you if you needed help before shutting the door."

You're damn right you should have.

"It's okay. You were preoccupied." I say it in a slightly snotty voice because, well, I feel like being a snot.

Edward makes quick work of the button on my jeans while I make a show of leaning on him for balance, maybe a little more than necessary. "Would you like me to start your zipper, too?"

"Yes, please". As Edward has his back to Leah, working his nimble fingers just above my crotch, I stare directly at her, wanting so badly to stick out my tongue while waving my hands with my thumbs in my ears. I've never had any beef with Leah, and we've always been cool. Something's changed, and I can't believe what's come over me.

_You're damned right it has. You want that boy._

I've drawn the metaphorical line in the sand. So I send a silent message informing Leah to keep her distance, a.k.a., nails, canines, and titties, away from my . . . _whatever_ the hell he is.

Edward sets off a plague of locusts fluttering in my chest as I think about how close his perfect hands are to a part of me now wanting him even closer, and as he steps back from me, I watch him. I watch his ruddy, wind-swept hair being tussled whimsically in the evening beach breeze, watch his worried eyes, now deep and rich and forest green, beg my forgiveness while asking for understanding, watch how intently he looks at me as I take in his burnished barely sun-kissed skin along with his pouting slightly swollen, wind-burnt lips.

I still feel the damn locusts. Now they flying, bumping into my ribs, chewing at my heart as I consider him: placing his very same hands on someone other than me, turning his eyes away—looking elsewhere—not in my direction, or pulling away his lips, unwilling to find mine. And for the second time in my life, I feel pain worse than all of my injuries combined. I feel loss.

_Do something about it._

I turn without drama and hop quietly back into the john. "Edward, maybe you should just hurry up and get the tent. You won't want to miss the fireworks. I can help and hold a flashlight for you later. Leah can stay here with me in case I need any help." I say it as calmly and as nicely as I can.

"That's a good idea, Isabella. I should get going. Leah, would you mind?" Huh? He looks relieved.

"No, I don't mind. I can still see from here if they start. Sure. Go ahead, Edward. Bella and I will probably be next to the fire by the time you get back. I saved seats for the both of you, thinking you'd eventually find your way over to the group."

"Thank you for your thoughtfulness. How nice of you to do that."

"Yes, how nice." My bitchiness has returned, expelling just a smidgeon of sarcasm, thinking I was going to keep Edward to myself or at least bring him over to the other side of the pit with my drunken friends.

"I had better get going. Isabella, are you all set?" He looks a bit worried as I sense reservation in his voice.

"Yeah, just hurry back . . ."

I truly mean it.

"I'm going to need the bag with the laxative crap, too, and another round of painkillers after you return."

"Okay then, Isabella, Leah." He addresses us with his ingrained manners.

_The ones you always badmouth._

Edward runs off into the darkness before I close the door behind me, getting ready to relieve myself. I'm actually a little more at ease—now that he's left—and feeling far less self-conscious even as I tense, letting out a blood-curdling scream because of the immense pain from my tailbone. Chills travel up my spine and sweat rolls down my face as I catch my breath, trying to rid myself of this feeling, this nausea, this demon possessing me, and in looking back on the day, something tells me I'm not only dealing with my own bowels but maybe Hell's as well. Unfortunately, I have a sinking feeling that this is only going to be the beginning of my ordeal, and for once in my life, I ask for strength and willpower to see me through it so I won't fuck up this fresh start with the one person who could possibly be the best thing of my life.

* * *

A/N:

Is Bella heading in the right direction?

Where is Renée?

Who is Bella's alter ego?

What is Edward thinking now?

How are both their lives going to change?

Please share your thoughts.

* * *

Thank you for being patient. This chapter was a challenge.

* * *

Terminology

quadruple jump - a maneuver in figure skating that has at least four but fewer than five revolutions

board - also known as a deck, is the main part of a skateboard

nose - is front of the skateboard

tail - rear of the skateboard

trucks - front and rear axle assemblies which hold the wheels

grind - scraping one or both truck axles on a curb, railing or other surface

50-50 grind - grinding on both trucks, simultaneously

5-0 grind - a rear truck grind with the front of the board elevated over the obstacle

goofy-foot - a skater who rides more comfortably with the right foot leading, while pushing with the left

pipe - a U-shaped ramp of any size used for skateboarding manuevers

* * *

Thank you Chayasara for your unrelenting patience in beta'ing this mess . . . twice! Mistakes thereafter are my own.

* * *

Check out these lovely ladies I preread for:

Bornohalloween

Gabby1017

Ohgeefantasy

* * *

As always, thank you for reading.

PAD


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